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FEBRUARY 14. 1955 



A salute to some who have earned 
the good opinion of the world of 
sport, if not yet its tallest headlines 


At 21, Mike McMurtry is dead set 
on a boxing career. Outside of school 
hours at Idaho State College, the Ta- 
coma, Wash, heavyweight has time 
for little else. Mike is already the na- 
tional intercollegiate champion, plans 
to turn professional after graduation 
and a stint with the Marines. His older 
brother Bat is now a pro, unbeaten in 
15 fights to date, with 12 knockouts. 


Yvonne Sugden visited London’s Queens Ice Club one 
night when she was seven. Fascinated with figure skating 
at first sight, she has worked at it religiously ever since. 
Now 15 and still practicing three to five hours a day, 
Yvonne is Britain’s women’s amateur champion for the 
second year in a row, won the international competition 
at St. Moritz last month and was leading by a wide mar- 
gin in the European championships at Budapest until she 
fell and finished second. Acclaimed the finest girl free 
skater Britain has ever produced, Yvonne will travel to 
Vienna this month to compete in the world championships. 


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FEBRUARY 14. 1955 



Second, 1912 

“Young men now do 
not work hard to keep 
the body strong. They 
eat, play, smoke and 
drink too much. If 
young men want to 
win Olympics, they should begin now. They 
should get up early, go to bed early, run 
all the time. Young men must eat good 
food and have a clean mind.” 

The Question: 

As a former Olympian, 
what should the 
United States do to win 
the Olympics in 1956? 

"We'll have to perform 
much better to win 
more medals than the 
improved Russian 
team. Their women are 
far ahead of ours in 
track and other events. We must field an 
all-round team. Not just an outstanding 
track team, but top teams in weight lifting, 
gymnastics, etc. in which Russians excel.” 

“By creating more in- 
terest in events in 
which we are tradi- 
tionally weak. College 
meets should schedule 
events more nearly 
parallel to the Olympics. Business and in- 
dustry should cooperate with athletes. This 
can be done by staggering hours and work 
weeks to allow time for training." 


Winner, 1952 


jUkJVw "I’ve seen the Russians 
in action. They are 

geared for to 

is better 

The games will be in 
November, when our athletes have had lit- 
tle or no competition. The way to victory is 
a revised competitive schedule so our ath- 
letes will be at their peak.” 


“Sorry to say that 
we have an excellent 
chance of losing to the 
Russians. Not enough 
of our young men de- 
vote the time and ef- 
fort needed to excel in track and field 
events. Training is not fashionable. We have 
some good men, but not enough. What 
should we do? I'm not a magician.” 

HORACE ASHENFELTER, 3.000-Meter Stecple- 

CHARLIE MOORE. 400-Meter Hurdles 

“By developing incen- 
tive among our ath- 
letes. Money has nev- 
er won a 100-meter 
dash. If we can give 
our athletes greater in- 
centive I think we can win. This can come 
through increased recognition and more in- 
tense publicity of the amateur events which 
make up the Olympic Games.” 

“By fostering enthu- 
siasm at the family, 
school, college and 
postcollege levels. I re- 
ceived great support 
from my father, Cor- 
nell University and the N.Y. Athletic Club. 
Impress on athletes that there is no greater 
thrill than to climb the victory stand and 
receive victory wreaths.” 

JOSEPH PEARMAN, 10,000-Meter Walk 
Second, 1920 

“Material should be 
scouted now. Former 
Olympians should lo- 
cate and help coach 
promising youngsters. 
Bernie Wefers of the 
N.Y.A.C. helped me with my arm action. 
I learned to hold my head down from 
George Goulding, Canada’s champion. Jack 
Moakley showed me how to place my feet.” 

Sports Illustrated 
February 14, 1955. 

Sports Illustrated is published weekly by Time Inc., at 51 o N. Michigan Aw.. Chicago ;/, III. Prinleti in 
U-S. A. Entered as second-clots matter at the Post Office at Chicago, III. Subscription 57.50 a year in U.S.A. and Canada. 

Volume 2 
Number 7 

y fly purists are fussy about their 
hut there are British anglers who 
in a long step better. These gents 
will only "fish the rise"— east to a rising 
fish. They disdain to "fish the water" — 
east to any likely spot. No rise, no east 
for them. For us. that would mean many 
a day with no fishing at all. (We’ve had 
many a day with no fish, but at least we’ve 
been fishing.) 

Choice ol sport. $4.75 

Rich, real leather. 
Many colors. $6 

' f all sportsmen who value the wind- 
proof feature of Zippo, probably none gets 
more out of it than the outboard motor 
crowd. When you’re doing thirty or so in 
a H-footer and the water feels like broken 
rocks under the hull, it’s a great comfort 
to get your light despite the worst batter- 
ing the wind can give. One hand and one 
zip, too. 

A ncidentally. the wonderful recent im- 
provements in outlioard motors— they get 
up to 70 m.p.h. and more now, and some 
push big cruisers— may only partially ex- 

plain their popularity. The truth is. the 
outboard is one of the few remaining 
mechanisms the average man can tinker 
with. The modern automobile calls for an 
expert. Most men can’t do anything more 
with a modern refrigerator than get a beer 
out of it. But with an outboard, there are 
things to turn and things to press and you 
can do it yourself. We used to be a great 
country of tinkerers. Nice to see some of 
it return. 

about the Zippo guarantee. We fix all 
Zippos free, always, no matter what hap- 
pens to them. No one, we said, has ever 
paid us a cent to repair a Zippo. Then we 
remembered the man who sent us a dollar 
—without giving his name and address. 
We had fixed his lighter and he wanted to 
show appreciation. But we couldn’t return 
it because we couldn't locate him. 

Framed it. It hangs in the President's 
office, where it’s pointed out as part of 
the money no one ever paid us to repair 
a Zippo. 

Genuine Zippo Fluid and Flints make all lighters work better 

Zippo Manufacturing Company. Bradford. Pa. 
In Canid* Zippo Mmuficlu'i"« Co., Cinidi Lld„ Niljin Filb. Onl 

FEBRUARY 14. 1955 



Editor-in-chief Henry R. Luce 

President Roy E. Larsen 

O NE of the lasting pleasures of sport lies in the enjoyment 
of its equipment, in the proud care which owners give a 
well-balanced tennis racket, a pair of riding boots, or that 
favorite gun with burnished stock and oiled barrel. Insepara- 
ble from sport’s beauty, equipment is also as essential to sport 
as its rules and traditions. 

The continuing improvement of this equipment through 
scientific research and study is the 
daily concern of an industry whose 
market has quintupled in 20 years, 
from less than $200 million to more 
than $1 billion. And the attractive 
results of this research, from spinning 
reels and glass fishing rods to plastic 
coatings for skis, represent an unend- 
ing stream of important news to ev- 
eryone in the sports world. 

Each year the industry presents its 
latest and best at the Annual Convention and Show of the 
National Sporting Goods Association, where this week in Chi- 
cago manufacturers displayed more than 600 lines of equip- 
ment, transferring the Morrison Hotel into a glittering show- 
case for the thousands of sporting goods dealers and buyers 
there to see it. 

Sports Illustrated’s interest in the convention, both edi- 
torially and commercially, is a natural one, and as a member 
of the NSGA we were very glad to be on hand with our own 
display booth. Against a background of outstanding sports 
pictures from our issues, visitors, old friends and new, had a 
chance to test their sports knowledge in a special quiz contest 
designed for the occasion. 

Many manufacturers of sporting goods have recognized 
Sports Illustrated as an excellent year-round advertising me- 
dium for their wonderful wares. Sporting goods dealers from 
all over the country also understood from the first that this 
magazine offers an exceptional setting, a brilliant showcase, 
for sports merchandise. And you may have seen, in local 
stores, examples in window and floor displays of SI pictures, 
streamers, and full-color posters; for Sports Illustrated has 
a permanent lien on the most exciting and colorful pictorial 
stockroom there is -the world of sport. 

Recently I learned with a great deal of pleasure the results 
of a nation-wide contest sponsored by The Sporting Goods 
Dealer for store windows using a hunting theme: the top 
three prize winners all used Sports Illustrated material. 

Managing Editor Sidney L. James 
Asst. Managing Editor . Richard W. Johnston 

News Editor .John Tibby 

Associate Editors 

Peter Barrett. Gerald Holland. Martin Kane. 
Paul O'Neil. Jerome Snyder. Eleanor Welch. 
Richard Wolters. Norton Wood. 

StaH Writers 

Gerald Astor. Ezra Bowen. Robert Creamer, 
Andrew Crichton. MacLennan Farrell, N. Lee 
Griggs. Roger Kahn, Margery Miller, Coles 
Phinizy, Henry J. Romney, Elaine St. Maur. 
Don A. Sehanche, Frederick Smith. Whitney 
Tower. Reginald Wells. William H. White. 

Staff Photographers 

Mark Kauffman. Richard Meek, Hy Peskin. 


William Chapman (.Wu-m/csfr), Honor Fitz- 
patrick ( Chief of Heneo reh>, Paul Abramson, 
Robert H. Boyle. Helen Brown, Jane Farley, 
Mervin Hyman. Margaret Jeramuz. Virginia 
Kraft. Morten Lund. Kathleen Shortall, Mary 
Snow. Dorothy Stull. Ann Weeks, Lester 
Woodcock. Jo Ahern Zill. 


Arthur L. Brawley (Editorial Production'!, 
Irraine Barry (Copy Peak i, William Bernstein, 
Betty Dick. Maryanne Gjersvik, Harvey Grut, 
Dorothy Merz. Eleanore Milosovio, Martin 
Nat han. A I Zingaro. 

Special Contributors 

Baseball: Red Smith; Boating: Robert Ba- 
vier Jr.: Bowling: Victor Kalman: Boxing: 
Budd Schulberg; Flying: Bill Mauldin; 
Football: Herman Hickman; Golf: Herbert 
Warren Wind; HORSE Racing: Albion Hughes; 
Hunting & Fishing: Clyde Carley, David 
Costello. Ted Janes. Hart Stilwell. Philip 
Wylie. Ed Zern; Motor Sports: John Bentley ; 
Nature: John O'Reilly; Tennis: William F. 
Talbert; Travel: Horace Sutton; Under 21: 
Duane Decker; Weidman'S Burden: Jerome 

Publisher H. H. S. Phillips Jr. 

Advertising Director William W. Holman 

Subscription Rates: 1 yr. $7.50, U.S., Canada 
and active military personnel anywhere in the 
world: all other subscriptions, 1 yr., $10. 

Please address all correspondence concerning 
Shouts IllUstrateii’s editorial und advertis- 
ing contents to: Shorts Illustrated, 9 Rocke- 
feller Plaza, Now York 20, N.Y. 

Please address all subscription correspond- 
ence to Shorts Illustrated, 540 N. Michigan 
Ave., Chicago 11, III. Changes of address re- 
quire four weeks' notice. When ordering change, 
please name magazine and furnish address 
imprint from a recent issue, or state exactly 
how magazine is addressed. Change cannot he 
made without old as well as new address, in- 
cluding postal zone number. Time Inc. also 
publishes Time, I.ife, Fortune, Architec- 
tural Forum and House & Home. Chairman, 
Maurice T. Moore; President, Roy E. Larsen; 
Executive Vice President for Publishing, 
Howard Black; Executive Vice President and 
Treasurer, Charles L. Stillman; Vico President 
and Secretary. D. W. Brumbaugh; Vice Presi- 
dents, Bernard Bnrnes, Allen Grover, Andrew 
Hciskell, C. D. Jackson, J. Edward King, 
James A. Linen, Ralph D. Paine, Jr.. P. I. 
Prentice; Comptroller and Assistant Secretary, 
Arnold W. Carlson. 


Volume 2, Number 7 


February 14, 1955 

Copyright under International Copyright Convention All rights reserved under Pan-American Copyright Convention 
Copyright 1955 by Time Inc 


16 THE WONDERFUL WORLD OF SPORT As the camera sees it 
19 SOUNDTRACK Si’s editors report and reflect on the news 
59 SCOREBOARD and Week’s Winners 



Gunnar Nielsen set a new world record, but hardly anyone noticed for 
behind him Wes Santee and Fred Dwyer were wrestling each other down 
the stretch. An account in words and pictures by Robert Creamer and 
SI photographers 


England's young cricketers retain the Ashes after a struggle— said the 
London Times — which should be written "in blood" 


That famous former sportswriter, who once climbed into the ring with 
Dempsey to see what it was like, tries the same thing on Britain’s national 
game with results that surprise him. By Paul Gallico 


The nation's No. 1 canine emit its history, its leading personalities, its 
problems and how the blue ribbons are awarded ■ An SI preview with text 
by Reginald Wells, a four-page foldont In Color of champion dogs and 
a genealogical chart by Arthur Singer 


At Lake Titicaca in the Andes, the summer season is in full swing and 
fishermen are getting a king's ransom in the biggest rainbow trout you ever 
sale. A picture report In Color 


James T. Farrell, distinguished author and lifelong baseball fan, takes 
his H-year-old son on a nostalgic journey to the Cooperstown shrine 

COVER: The great Dane, Autopilot 
Photograph by Ylla 

As show dogs come, the magnificent great 
Dane Autopilot is something of a veteran. 
First shown in 1951, he finished his cham- 
pionship in three months and went on to 
win best-of-breed at the 1952 Westmin- 
ster Dog Show. Since then he has won 50 
best-of-breed ribbons and will be compet- 
ing again next week at the 1955 Westmin- 
ster Show (pp. 22-33). Autopilot is owned 
by Marydane Kennels, Wilton, Conn. 



2 Pat on the Back: Praise for those not 
already smothered with it 

4 Hotbox: Jimmy Jemail asks: As a former 
Olympian, what should the U.S. do to win 
the Olympics in 1956? 

34 Tip from the Top: WlLLlB HUNTER, of 
the Riviera Country Club, explains the 

44 Skiing: Sir Arnold Lunn has some advice 
for that vanishing species, the true ama- 
teur ski racer 

45 Sporting Look: There's a new spark to 
parkas, as this report In Color from As- 
pen, Colo, shows 

47 Snow Patrol and Fisherman's Calen- 
dar: Bill Wallace with the latest reports 
from ski country: and Ed Zern from the 
lakes, rivers and sea 

52 Flying: Si’s Sunday Pilot, Bill Mauldin, 
finds his little Ercoupe is even more re- 
markable than he thought: it has a brain 

54 Basketball : GERALD Astor presents a boy 
with a problem: 7-foot 3-inch Wade Hal- 
brook of Oregon State College 

55 Motor Sports: John Bentley, shying from 
nothing, takes a Greyhound bus test to 
find out about his Reaction Time and other 
matters important to all drivers 

56 Column of the Week: Bill Lee, of the 
Hartford Courant, pays tribute to an hon- 
est boxing man 

56 Horses: Albion Hughes visits New Or- 
leans’ Old Fair Grounds and finds a bang- 
up season under way with some horses and 
jockeys worth noting 

57 Tennis: William F. Talbert looks at our 
juniors, Jerry Moss and Mike Green, and 
finds their prospects pleasing 

63 You Should Know: If you are taking up 
figure skating 

64 Under 21: Duane Decker reports on a 
pistol princess, Kathleen Walsh of Arling- 
ton, Va. 

66 The 19th Hole: The readers take over 



What’s it like to be a pro football coach at the National 
League's annual drawing? How do you get the best college 
players against the stiffest competition? PlEltS ANDERTON 
tells you, in an absorbing and personal story of the toughest 
18 hours a big-league coach can face 


That colorful collegiate winter frolic, as seen by the Big 
Green’s distinguished alumnus. Rudd Schulberg 


They’re specially built for the world’s youngest — and 
cutest — drivers. An SI Spectacle IN Coi-OB 


FEBRUARY 14. 1955 




Gunnar Nielsen won the famous Mile and set a new world record of 
4:03.6 in doing it. But hardly anyone noticed, for behind him Wes 
by ROBERT CREAMER Santee and Fred Dwyer were wrestling each other down the stretch 

New York 

rpHERE ARE those who say it was the best running bat- 

lie New Yorkers have seen since the Democratic Con- 
vention of 1924 took 103 ballots to nominate John W. 
Davis. There are others who say this is not so, that there 
has never been anything like it before. 

It is necessary to understand the importance of the one- 
mile run to any indoor track-and-field meet and to under- 
stand that this was the Millrose Games, the most famous of 
all indoor meets; that there were 15,000 of the passionate, 
dedicated, perceptive breed called track fans in Madison 
Square Garden, and that the event was the Wanamaker 
Mile, the single most important indoor race in the world. 
As Wes Santee said in Washington just two weeks earlier, 
it is the race that everybody wants to win. 

Last Saturday night to the Wanamaker Mile in the Mill- 
rose Games in Madison Square Garden came six men. All 
six wanted to win. But three expected to, in the way a man 
expects dinner when he arrives home from the office: there 
Ls simply no question about it; it is his natural due. This 
is called confidence, and it is a quality possessed to an 
extraordinary degree by the three young men in question: 
David Wesley Santee of Kansas, Gunnar Nielsen of Den- 
mark, and Frederick Anthony Dwyer Jr. of New Jersey. 

Wes Santee’s confidence rested on cold logic. The record 
showed that he was best. No one had ever run a mile in- 
doors faster than he; only the four-minute milers — Roger 
Bannister and John Landv — had ever run a faster mile out- 
doors. He had been beaten, true, by Nielsen’s sprint finish 
in a slow race in Washington on Jan. 22, but a week later 
in Boston he had run Nielsen into the ground with a driv- 
ing pace over the last half-mile that had left the Dane 35 
yards behind without a sprint and Santee all alone at the 
tape with a new world record. And he had beaten Dwyer 
five times in five races. 

“Why should I expect to lose?” said Wes Santee. 

Gunnar Nielsen’s confidence rested on his great sprint 
finish and a curious lack of regard for Santee. Nielsen was 
co-holder of the world half-mile record and he had, after 
all, defeated Santee in Washington. 

"If I stay close to him,” he said in his halting English, 
“I can outsprint him and win. I can beat Santee. The only 
man I fear in all the world is Bannister.” 

No one knew what little Freddy Dwyer’s confidence 
rested on. He is a good runner, a fine runner, but he had 
never been able to beat either Santee or Nielsen. He was 
confident all the same. 

"I can beat ’em both,” he said, and it was obvious that 
he believed it. 

As the start of the Wanamaker Mile neared last Sat- 
urday night, the early events of the evening were all but 
continued on next page 

BUTTED OFF the track. Dwyer continued to run inside 
of Santee around turn. Nielsen, far ahead, raced for the tape and 
a new indoor world record. Ollen ilrfh was a lap behind others. 

picture sequence continued on next page 

FEBRUARY 14. 1955 

Back on the track, Dwyer, completely off the ground (3), clings to Santee after being spun all the way around toward startled crowd. 

Dwyer twists away from Santee (6) and stays in front, but almost crashes into the timers (7) as he weaves his way along the track. 

THE MILE continued from page 9 

forgotten — the powerful Audun. Boy- 
sen’s striking win over a splendid field 
in the 880; graceful Mai Whitfield’s 
suddenly awkward struggle to stay 
ahead in the final yards of the 600; the 
commanding victories of Bob Richards 
in the pole vault and Harrison Dillard 
in the hurdles (the ninth consecutive 
Millrose triumph for each); Rod Rich- 
ard's clear-cut win margin in the star- 
packed 60-yard dash. All were splendid 
performances. All were genuinely ap- 
preciated by the crowd. But all be- 
came of secondary importance as the 
time neared for the Wanamaker Mile. 

The field was probably the best ever 
entered in the Wanamaker. There was 
Santee, the 4:00.6 miler, the indoor 
record-holder. There was Nielsen, con- 
queror of Santee, a great runner in 
his own right. There was Dwyer, who 
had won the Wanamaker and every 

other important Eastern indoor mile in 
1953 before he had gone into the Army. 
There was Boh McMUlen, who had 
finished second to Josy Barthel in the 
record-breaking 1952 Olympic 1,500- 
meter run, and who was slowly work- 
ing his way back into top shape. There 
was Billy Tidwell, who had beaten San- 
tee at the mile in high school and who 
had beaten him again, in the half-mile, 
just last year. There was Dick Ollen, 
who had set a record-producing pace 
for Santee in Boston and who had been 
brought to New York to do the same 
thing in the Wanamaker. 


Nielsen jumped into the lead at the 
gun, but Ollen took over quickly and 
led the field through the first quarter- 
mile in 58.6 seconds, brilliant time that 
brought an appreciative roar from the 
crowd. Santee, Nielsen and Dwyer fol- 
lowed Ollen in that order. 

At the half-mile the time was 2:00.6, 
perfect pace for a record mile. Santee 
moved past the tiring Ollen just past 
the half-mile mark and took over the 
lead, Dwyer moving up into second 
place and Nielsen following in third. 

Here, Santee lost the race. His sense 
of pace indoors is faulty, and his time 
for the third quarter-mile was a lacka- 
daisical 63 seconds, much too slow to 
take the sting out of Nielsen’s kick. 
Santee realized this belatedly and in- 
creased speed in the last quarter, but 
Dwyer and Nielsen stayed with him. 

The crowd was all voice now, roaring 
its approval of Santee’s driving pace, 
of Dwyer’s persistence, of Nielsen’s 
potential. On the backstretch of the 
last lap, 80 yards from the finish line, 
Nielsen moved out from the inside 
curb of the track to pass. With a tre- 
mendous, lifting burst of speed, he 
passed Dwyer and then Santee, just as 
they bent into the last turn. Santee was 



Dignified timers (4) stare in amazement as Dwyer and Santee break apart, almost fall, then continue to totter toward finish (S) 

Exhausted Santee gulps for air (8) as he staggers across the finish line behind Dwyer, who throws his arms out to maintain balance 


laboring and he bore out on the turn, 
possibly to hold off Nielsen, a common 
tactic in indoor running. 

But Nielsen, his long hair flapping, 
his arms pumping across his chest, was 
suddenly three, four, five yards in 
front, his famed sprint wide open. San- 
tee was through. It was obviously Niel- 
sen’s race, a great victory for him and 
a stirring thing for the crowd to see. 


But before anyone could savor it, 
before anyone could really appreciate 
the scope of Nielsen’s accomplishment, 
the strange events pictured on these 
pages began to occur. Dwyer, hanging 
like a leech to the fading Santee, tried 
to sneak past on the inside as they 
followed Nielsen around the last turn, 
a maneuver that is legal only if the 
man passing can get through without 

interfering with the man being passed. 

It didn’t work; there simply wasn’t 
room. Santee came back to the inside 
of the track and Dwyer was dead, 
squeezed between Santee and the curb. 

When they banged together (Picture 
1 , p. 8), Chuck Hornbostel, the old 
Indiana half-miler who was serving as 
inspector on the turn, properly noted 
interference by Dwyer and called it to 
the attention of the chief inspector. 
Meanwhile, Dwyer, still running, was 
jostled off the track onto the infield 
( Picture 2, p. 9). He followed the curve 
of the track, staying abreast of Santee, 
and came back on the boards as they 
hit the straightaway, squeezing ahead 
of the weary Kansan. 

Santee, seemingly unable to bear the 
sight of Dwyer in front of him, reached 
out a protesting arm and grabbed Dwy- 
er’s shoulder. Dwyer, in turn, infuri- 
ated by this violation of track ethics, 
turned angrily to thrust Santee’s arm 

off and grabbed him around the body. 
The crowd watched in amazement. 
Nielsen’s great race was forgotten. 

The two spun around on the track 
in each other’s arms, almost fell, broke 
apart and then staggered across the fin- 
ish line. At once they turned to each 
other in post-race exhaustion and with 
monumental incongruity shook hands. 

The crowd, shocked by the travesty, 
was in an uproar. Its rumbling anger 
was obviously directed more at Santee 
than at Dwyer. What Dwyer had done 
—cutting through on the inside— is 
fairly common. It was wrong, the judges 
spotted it, and Dwyer was penalized 
for it, but it was understandable. But 
for Santee to reach out and hold an 
opponent was a glaring breach of con- 
duct, particularly so for a great runner. 

“That’s not the way a champion 
acts,” growled a spectator. 

Indeed, when Dwyer’s disqualifica- 
continued on nest page 

FEBRUARY 14. 1955 


BITING HIS TONGUE with determination, Pole Vaulter Bob Richards drips the pole, 
fixes his eye on the crossbar and churns down the runway. He cleared 15 feet 2 inches 
to set a new Millrose record as he won the pole vault for the ninth straight year. 

THE MILE continued from page 11 

tion was announced, the crowd booed 
the disqualification. And when it was 
announced that Santee, who had fin- 
ished third behind Dwyer, was being 
placed second, the boos grew loud- 
er. When Nielsen’s world-record time 
of 4:03.6 was announced, the crowd 
seemed barely to notice it. Everyone 
was too busy talking about the fight. 

After the race Santee sought out 

Nielsen and congratulated him, and 
photographers took their picture to- 
gether. Santee seemed out of place in 
the picture. Then Santee went over to 
Dwyer and the two shook hands again. 

“I’m sorry you were disqualified,” 
Santee said. 

“I’m sorry about the whole thing,” 
Fred said. “Let's forget about it.” He 
remembered the Baxter Mile sched- 
uled for the Garden on Feb. 12. 
“There’s always next week.” 


ists in the 60-yard dash lunge for the 
finish. Rod Richard (right), his face 

POISED IN MID-AIR, ii, he Herman 

Wyatt seems to clear bar but knocks it 
off with his hip to miss new meet record. 

“What’s going to happen next week, 
Fred?” someone asked Dwyer. 

Dwyer, grinning, said, "I still think 
I can beat ’em both. Next week? Well, 
there’ll be a fight.” He stopped grin- 
ning. “I don’t mean that literally,” he 
added hastily. 

Santee sought out Dan Ferris and 
returned his second-place medal. 

“I gave it back because I don’t 
think I finished second. Someone went 
past me.” He paused. “I think we 



strained with effort, flint's his arms wide as he breaks the tape 
with his chast to win in 6.2 seconds, one-tenth of a second off 
the indoor record. Arthur Bragg (i left > thrusts his head and 

shoulders forward in a vain attempt to beat Richard. John 
Haines (second from left) and Arthur Pollard, running almost in 
step, follow Bragg across the finish line, a close third and fourth. 

DETERMINED HARRISON DILLARD ,„k,, hi, long. lean leg 

over the hurdle a good half-stride ahead of Charley Pratt ( fore- 
ground ) and Rod Perry, went on to win for ninth year in a row. 


CLASSIC FORM is shown by sprinters in 60-yard semi- 
final as all five starters roar off mark with right legs driving, 
left arms flung back Richard (center) won this and the final. 

both should have been disqualified.” 

He went back to his hotel, dressed, 
phoned his wife, changed his airline res- 
ervation from Sunday noon to Satur- 
day night, ate and flew back to Kan- 
sas on the 1 :30 a.m flight. 

Meanwhile, at the Wivel, a Scandi- 
navian restaurant in New York C.un- 
nar Nielsen drank Danish beer and ate 
headcheese and herring from the smor- 
gasbord. He said he was a little tired, 
that he had not been aware of the brawl 

behind him, that “perhaps” he could 
continue to defeat Santee and Dwyer 
in the mile races yet to come this in- 
door season. 

He made an odd picture, this quiet, 
amiable winner of the world’s most im- 
portant indoor race. For despite his 
brilliant victory, his world-record time, 
it was not his race. To track fans, the 
1955 Wanamaker Mile would always 
be the graceless Santee-Dwyer affair at 
the finish line. C end) 

gunnar nielsen grins as he pours 
himself some Danish beer after record mile. 

FEBRUARY 14. 1955 



England's young cricketers retain The Ashes after an uphill struggle with Australia 

A mxn should dip his peu in blood to write about this 
.day,” cried the Times of London. Not since 1933 had 
an English team returned from Australia with The Ashes, 
symbol of world cricket supremacy. After dropping the 
first of five test matches at Brisbane in November, Len 
Hutton, the first professional ever to captain an English 
team, rallied his young forces. They won at Sydney in De- 
cember, again at Melbourne in January. Last week at the 
Adelaide Oval, they sewed up the series with a convincing 
five-wicket victory— i.e., batting last, England passed the 
Aussie total of 434 runs with five batters still unretired. 

After England’s first lop-sided defeat in Brisbane, Len 
Hutton was in the national dog house. Having won the 
toss, the dour Yorkshireman allowed Australia to bat first 
and run up a huge lead while the pitch was in top shape. 

In the words of Neville Cardus, Britain’s cricket laure- 
ate, ‘‘Hutton thrives on vicissitude: in Yorkshire they 
don’t play cricket for foon. He has, in fact, given even the 
Australians a few lessons in grim, patient ruthlessness.” In 
other words, playing dull percentage cricket, stalling at 
bat to wear down the best enemy bowlers and otherwise 
boring the fans into sarcastic clapping, Hutton led his 

team back to the final great day at Adelaide, and England 
retained The Ashes they had recaptured at home in 1953. 

Overnight Len Hutton was transformed from bum to 
hero, but the glory was not all Hutton’s. A kind of Brit- 
ish Whiz Kid quartet was the playing backbone of the 
team. The bats of Colin Cowdrey and Peter May humbled 
Australian bowling. Frank (Typhoon) Tyson and Brian 
Statham, England’s fire-balling bowlers, overwhelmed the 
Aussie batting order. Tyson, a 6-foot 200-pounder, likes 
to chant snatches of Wordsworth as he runs toward the 
w'icket, building up speed for his throws. 

Joy took over England when the final results arrived. 
At Wood Hall, where Hutton’s sons go to school, the lads 
were given a half holiday. From the Marylebone Cricket 
Club, spiritual home of cricket, members dispatched a 
message to Hutton: “Well done. Magnificent performance. 
Flags hoisted at Lord’s.” 

Down under, gloom prevailed. Fans watching Austral- 
ia’s aging stars trudge off the field were not heartened 
by the thought that only a few hundred yards aw-ay a 
couple of young Americans had just swept the finals of 
the Australian junior tennis championships (see page 57). 




An eminent American sportswriter now living abroad 
takes on the task of explaining Britain's national 
game so that it can be understood by an American 
bleacherite. His conclusion: “Hell, it's suicidal!” 




CLASSIC URN, for “ashes” of Eng- 
lish cricket, dates from the defeat by 
an invading Australian team in 1882. 


T HERE is always a tendency in hu- 
man nature to decry the other fel- 
low’s game, particularly when it is the 
national pastime of a foreign country 
and played almost exclusively by the 
people living there. 

Few games have been kidded as 
much, at least by Americans, as the 
Briton’s cricket, that odd ball-and-bat 
match that takes three days to play, 
in which runs are scored by the dozens 
and Centuries, and batting stands of 
one hundred are not uncommon. And 
the break for tea is considered the most 
deliciously funny business this side of 
a comic valentine. 

But I can tell you a little something 
about this pastime. I am one of the 
few American ex-sportswriters ever to 
have taken part in a real, big-time 
cricket match and survived to write 
about it. And I am prepared to testify 
that this is a rough, tough, as well as 
highly scientific sport and quite one of 
the best games ever devised for the 
exercise and enjoyment of the player 
as well as the spectator. 

I got into it as a gag. I was lucky to 
emerge from it with my life. You think 
cricket is a game for sissies? B-r-r-r- 
r-other! Field the position called Silly 
Mid-on, and see how sissy the game 
looks from that spot. Silly, eh? Hell, it’s 
suicidal! I know. I played there. Your 
position is no more than 10 yards away 
from a batter clouting a ball that is 
harder than a baseball with an errati- 
cally shaped bat. It’s a little like stand- 
ing in front of a .45 waiting to see 
the bullet come out. My problem was 
whether my reactions would be fast 
enough to enable me to duck a real hot 
liner. The British don’t duck. Wearing 
no gloves, they stop the ball, meat 

I do not wish to take up too much 

of your time recounting how I got my- 
self into this mess. When I saw an ad 
in the personals of the Times of Lon- 
don to the effect that the authors and 
the National Book League were to 
meet in their annual game, it looked 
like copy to me. I was writing a col- 
umn at the time. The game, I figured, 
would probably be one of those clown 
acts we pull off on our side of the water 
from time to time when the Baseball 
Writers play the Girls Team from the 
chorus of Oklahoma! at softball, with 
a keg of beer at first base and another 
at home plate. So I wangled myself an 

Friends, I couldn’t have been more 
wrong. All I did was walk into an an- 
nual grudge battle. Both teams were 
loaded with ringers. Anybody who 
could write — “O see the prety kat," or 
sign a dinner check in his own hand 
was considered an author; any crick- 
eter, pro or amateur, who could lift 
a book off a table automatically be- 
came a member of the National Book 
League. There were a couple of legiti- 
mate authors, such as the late Chester 
Wilmot, who were good cricketers on 
the side, but most of the players were 
of the caliber of my friend Ian Pee- 
bles. All this guy Peebles had ever 
done was bowl against Australia in the 
Test Matches. 

Cricket looks haphazard to the un- 
initiated and in fact in one sense it is. I 
don’t suppose that outside of basket- 
ball anyone has ever really invented a 
game all ready-set with rules and im- 
plements. Instead, they rather happen 
or grow slowly as the result of terrain, 
kids fooling around at play, national 
characteristics, older traditions and 
personal temperament. And once a 
game is set by custom and tradition 
continued on page 48 

FEBRUARY 14. 1955 




OFF THE COAST of Miami, Fla. last 
week 21 sleek, ocean-going yachts gath- 
ered for the most spectacular race of 
the winter season: the 184-mile thrash 
to Nassau. They ranged in size from 
the 80-foot Valiant — 52 years old but 
still fast enough to be scratch-boat in 
the fleet’s complex system of handi- 
caps — down to the likes of the 37- 
foot yawl Spray, with a time allowance 
of some nine hours. 

The attention of most observers, 
however, was focused on a low-slung 
39-foot yawl, Hoot Mon, the defending 

champion for this year’s race. Last sea- 
son Hoot Mon came to Miami tabbed 
by some experts as an unsafe boat be- 
cause of her radically designed hull 
that adhered more closely to the fine 
lines of a racing Star boat than to 
the more substantial lines of an ocean 
cruiser. But Hoot Mon won handily. 

This year she came to the line a fa- 
vorite, and in spite of frequent calms 
that threatened to reduce the dignified 
old competition to a drifting match, 
Skipper Lockwood Pirie brought her 
home a winner. Second by 35 minutes 

was Carleton Mitchell’s Finisterre; 
third, Bradley Noyes’ Tioga; and fourth 
was Spray, whose fiber-glass deck and 
hull coating added a radical touch to 
this year’s race. But Spray contributed 
more to the event than radical touches. 
During a race that ranged from un- 
eventful to downright dull for most 
boats, Spray tore her genoa jib three 
times, pulled out a piece of masthead 
rigging; and finally, during a two-hour 
calm on the second night, her crew 
managed to lasso, bring to boat and 
cut the tail from a nine-foot shark. 

precarious perch on plunging bow of yawl Spray is taken 
by crewman who watches as hastily repaired genoa jib is rehoisted. 

up the mast of Spray, crew member Warren Bailey dan- 
gles dizzily from a bosun's chair after making emergency re- 
pairs on rigging that had torn out during gusts on first night. 

champion "HOOT mon," running on a broad reach with 
all of her sails set, won the 184-mile race for the second suc- 
cessive year, beating a fleet of 20 top ocean racers despite 
fickle winds and currents. Sails flying on the sleek yawl are, lefl 
to right, parachute spinnaker, balloon forestaysail, main- 
sail (with number), mizzenstaysail and, finally, mizzen sail. 





by Kentucky standaros the 2,000-seat basket- 
ball arena at Georgia Tech is a minor affair— the University 
of Kentucky gym seats 11,500. Before their game in At- 
lanta last week, blunt-speaking Coach Adolph Rupp of 
Kentucky accosted Coach John (Whack) Hyder of Georgia 
Tech and demanded: "What's your aim in baskelhall here? 
What do you expect to accomplish with a place like this 
to play in?” 

Coach Hyder thought for a moment and then clearly 
stated his aims: “First I want my boys to adjust spiritual- 
ly. Next I want them to go to school and get an educa- 


tion. Next I want them to give us their basketball time.” 

Said Rupp: "You can't do that. Boys aren't built that 
way any more.” 

That night Tech’s boys, who aren’t supposed to be built 
that way, wrecked mighty Kentucky, top college team in 
the nation, 65-59 for an incredible repeat of the miracle of 
early January, when lowly Tech beat Kentucky at Lexing- 
ton to end a 32-game Kentucky winning streak. Capping 
the surprises was the gracious acceptance of the second 
defeat by hard loser Rupp, who said: "That shows you 
what’ll happen when a team wants to win bad enough.” 






Message for Dulles 

G eneral manager Frank Lane, 
brain-in-chief of the Chicago White 
Sox, allows that we are handling the 
Russian problem all wrong. “There’s 
nothing to it,” Lane has informed a 
friend of his. “All you have to do is 
sit Molotov r down between Branch 
Rickey and Casey Stengel, and in 
four years Russia will have nothing 
left but Siberia and a couple of left- 
handed pitchers.” 

Track, field and theater 

1 IKE rowing, baseball and the utili- 
J zation of canoes in courtship, track 
meets are traditionally associated with 
blue and balmy days when the turf is 
soft and trees beyond the stadium 
are in lacy leaf. But most of NewYork's 
dedicated track fans— and many of 
those in Boston, Philadelphia and 
Washington — wouldn’t take a five- 
minute bus ride to watch runners com- 
pete after the ground has thawed. The 
big winter indoor meets, which have 
been a phenomenon of sport on the 
Eastern seaboard for almost a half 
century and had their beginnings long 
before that, afford the New Yorker his 
track season, and when they are done 
he yawns and waits for the next winter. 

But though he sustains his enthusi- 
asm for little more than five weeks, it 
burns bright and hot when it is at its 
peak. Madison Square Garden was 
jammed to the rafters last week (at 
prices ranging from $1.50 to $4.50 a 
seat' for the famed Millrose Games, 
first event of Manhattan’s indoor sea- 
son, and it will be jammed once a week 
henceforth until the Garden meets end. 
There is good reason for this midwinter 
habit: the big indoor meets are won- 
derful theater and, excepting perhaps a 
big day at the Olympic Games, tend to 
be more exciting than outdoor compe- 
tition on quarter-mile tracks. 

Almost all events are invitational 
affairs; famous men from the world of 
track are shipped in by the squad, the 
laggards are sternly culled and result- 
ant races are apt to be fast and thrill- 
ing. The Millrose crowd not only saw 
Wes Santee upset by Denmark’s Gun- 

nar Nielsen in a riotous land indoor 
world-record) Wanamaker Mile last 
week, but was privileged to watch the 
incredible Harrison Dillard flash over 
the hurdles, to gasp as the Rev. Bob 
Richards vaulted 15 feet 2 inches, and 
cheer a hatful of ex-Olympic sprinters 
and middle-distance men and the best 
of Eastern college relay teams. 

Instead of occupying a lonely seat 
in an all-but-empty stadium, further- 
more, the spectators sat jammed into a 
big crowd amid noise and band music 
and looked directly down upon almost 
all the action — the Garden’s little 12- 
laps-to-the-mile board track with its 
sharp banked turns and short straight- 
ways gives foot racing an immediacy 
and sense of conflict lacking out of 
doors. All of this, despite the strange- 
ness of the season, seemed logical 
enough; the first track meet of any 
kind in the U.S. was held when sum- 
mer was long past (Nov. 11, 1868) and 
it was held indoors in New York. 

It was, in retrospect, an extremely 
odd affair. To stage it, the fledgling 
New York Athletic Club took over a 
half-completed skating rink, closed its 
unfinished roof with a huge tarpaulin, 
and laid out an eighth-of-a-mile track 
on the soft infloored clay, between its 
foundations. When the competitors as- 
sembled, William B. Curtis, a NYAC 
founder, proudly unwrapped two arti- 
cles he had just brought back from 
England — the first pair of spiked shoes 
ever seen in the U.S. Five different men 
wore them (they were large and loose) 


The starter’s gun 
Ran out of blanks; 

The rare was run 

With thinned-out ranks. 

—Irwin L. Stein 

with varying results before tiie meet 
was over. 

The winter indoor track meet has 
been a part of sport in the East ever 
since. Many of the early ones were held 
(as a good many club meets are still) 
on the flat hardwood floors of big ar- 
mories. Often bicycle races and gym- 
nastic contests were a part of the pro- 
gram and the track athletes engaged in 
events long since outmoded and forgot- 
ten: pole-vaulting for distance, shot- 
putting for height, and the standing 
long jump with dumbbell weights 
swung in each hand for added distance. 

The advent of the invitational event 
(the NYAC's Baxter Mile, to be run 
this week, dates from 1910) and finally 
of the banked wooden track and of the 
very short, extremely sharp spikes 
which runners wear on them brought 
modern indoor meets to maturity. The 
Garden’s present track, constructed of 
spruce boards six inches wide and one 
and one half inches thick, is only 12 
feet wide and is built in eighty 15-foot, 
sections which are bolted together to 
make an oval. It is springy and as fast 
as cinders — although splintered boards 
nevertheless must be replaced after 
every meet, and a man who falls on it 
is lucky not to lose some hide. 

To hundreds of Manhattan’s knowl- 
edgeable track addicts, who clearly re- 
member big races and big names dat- 
ing far back toward the turn of the 
century, the Garden track is almost, if 
not quite, a shrine. “Gosh,” said one 
white-haired fan after last week’s Wan- 
amaker Mile. “I’ve seen these ever 
since I ran myself in the old Garden 
and I’ve never seen a mile as fast as 
that. If they’re going to replace any of 
these boards I'd almost feel like getting 
one and taking it home.” 

Long wrong line 

A NEW Columbia motion picture de- 
vised for the wide screen contains 
breath-taking views of West Point in 
brilliant color, throat-tightening scenes 
of the Cadets on parade and an old 
canard about football’s first forward 
pass which will be nailed here. 

But first, as the razor blade man says 
before the fights start on television, 
continued on next page 

FEBRUARY 14. 1955 

soundtrack continued from page 19 

a word about the picture itself. It is 
the biography of a famous West Point 
sergeant, Marty Maher, who served 
as coach and trainer at the military 
academy for 50 years and now lives 
near the Point in retirement. The film 
is called The Long Cray Line and it 
is based on Maher’s book, Bringing 
Up the Bras*. As brought to the screen, 
the story is a real weeper, but one of 
the lighter sequences re-enacts the 
Army-Notre Dame game of 1913 in 
which Gus Dorais and Knute Rockne 
completed 13 forward passes. “Men,” 
the Army coach is made to say after 
the game, “today you have seen some- 
thing new in football.” 

Not so. The first forward pass was 
completed on the first Wednesday in 
September 1906, by St. Louis Univer- 
sity in a game with Carroll College at 
Waukesha, Wis. The play was the 
brain child of Eddie Cochems, the St. 
Louis coach, and it was executed by 
a back named Brad Robinson who 
tossed to Jack Schneider for a gain of 
20 yards. Both Rockne (in his auto- 
biography) and Dorais (in many an 
interview) gave Cochems the credit. 

Aside from this error, The Long Gray 
Line is probably the best picture ever 
made at West Point. Sgt. Maher him- 
self was not unmoved after seeing it. 
Asked for comment, he paid it the ulti- 
mate tribute. “Have you,” he said to 
the press agent, wiping his eyes, “any 
Irish whisky in the house?” 

Farewell to the Chief 

C oolness in the clutch is the base- 
ball pitcher’s special form of cour- 
age, the quality he needs above all oth- 
ers. Along with it he needs judgment, 
the ability to assay the situation, the 
batter and most of all himself, so that 
he will know what pitch to serve. One 
who had these abilities to a superlative 
degree was Allie Pierce Reynolds, who 
last week dropped a note to the Yan- 
kees to say he won’t be around any 

A wrenched back, the result of a bus 
accident in 1953, and the prospect that 
another season in baseball would lead 
to an operation were the reasons Reyn- 
olds gave for his decision. But as long 
ago as last June the Chief was study- 
ing what his next season’s pitch would 
be. His massive shoulders submerged 
in the Yankees’ whirlpool bath, a towel 
wrapped around his head, Reynolds 
considered the situation. 

“When you work for a long time in a 
profession,” he said, picking his words 


as carefully as he would choose be- 
tween a fast ball and a curve, “and 
you about reach the ultimate, it’s hard 
to quit. Pride is part of that, 1 sup- 
pose. As long as I can pitch well, I’m 
going to want to pitch.” 

There was a suggestion that Reyn- 
olds, highest paid pitcher in baseball 
at $50,000 a year, didn’t really need 
the money. 

"I don’t like to talk about the busi- 
ness, ” he said, “but I do have oil inter- 
ests back around Oklahoma City. I 
make more money outside of baseball 
than I do in it. 

“I’m not just pitching for kicks. A 
lot of the money I make here I’ve been 
using for capital in the business. But 
mostly I'm not pitching for money. 
I’m pitching because I put so much 
time into learning baseball that I don’t 
want to quit while I’m still at the top.” 

He was at the top in the opinion of 
many a baseball man. There were, for 
instance, the measured words of Casey 
Stengel: “Reynolds is two ways great 
which is starting and relieving which 
no one else can do like him . . . Reyn- 
olds works all day and longer and re- 
lieves and he is a tree-mendous com- 
petitor and he has guts and his courage 
is simply splendid and tree-mendous.” 

You could look it up, as Casey has 
often said. Reynolds has won seven 
World Series games and lost only two. 
He had two no-hit games on his rec- 
ord, both in 1951. One of them, against 
the Boston Red Sox, clinched the pen- 
nant for the Yanks. In the ninth in- 
ning of that game, with two out, Ted 
Williams came to bat like a character 
out of a storybook and Reynolds had 
to put all his pride and all his courage 
into every pitch. He could have walked 
Williams and, by playing that per- 
centage, have made his no-hitter a 
more promising prospect. He decided 
to pitch to him. 

Williams hit a curving foul and Yogi 
Berra dropped it. Williams hit anoth- 
er foul. Berra caught that one and 
the record books welcomed, in their 
dull way, another pitching immortal. 
Only three have pitched two no-hitters 
in the same season— Johnny Vander 
Meer in 1938 (in successive games), 
Virgil Trucks in 1952. 

“I know myself as a pitcher,” Reyn- 
olds said above the sound of swirling 
water in the whirlpool bath, “and I’m 
still learning more about pitching. I 
won’t quit until I start to go back. 
When I lose it, I won’t hang around. 
I’ll be the first to know.” 

Gloom over Havre 

S ome of the boys were sitting 
around the office of Sheriff Roscoe 
Timmons up in Havre, Montana when 
George Bowery, a retired surveyor, 
dropped in. Someone asked George 
when he was planning to go over the 
hump into the Flathead country to see 

his relatives and get in a little steel- 
headin’. That sort of led the conversa- 
tion around to hunting, and George 
said he hadn’t done much lately, what 
with the cost of ammunition being so 
high for a fellow who was retired. 

“Well, sir,” Sheriff Timmons recalled 
afterward, “the more we thought 
about that, the more it came to us 
what a cryin’ shame it is that the cost 
of hunting stands in the way of a lot of 
hard-working fellas just at the time of 
life when they’ve really got time to en- 
joy it. There was one sure way to get 
this terrible problem to public atten- 
tion. The bunch of us sat down and 
drafted this bill. We figured we could 
get | Senator! Jess Angstman to give 
it all his support.” 

The bill drawn up by the boys that 
day was as refreshing as a zephyr in a 
Turkish bath. After due regard for leg- 
islative preamble it went to the heart 
of the matter: 

“That from and after the passage 
and approval of this Act, it shall be 
the duty of the Fish and Game Com- 
mission to issue, free and without cost, 
fishing and hunting licenses to all resi- 
dents of the State of Montana above 
the age of sixty (60 ) years. It shall like- 
wise be the duty of the Board of Ex- 
aminers of the State of Montana to 
indemnify all such persons for the cost 
of all ammunition used by such per- 
sons above the age of sixty (60) years, 
it being the intention that such per- 
sons shall be furnished free ammuni- 
tion so long as the ammunition is used 
for hunting such predators as wolver- 
ines, cougars, coyotes, jack rabbits, tax 
collectors and legislators. 

“It shall be unlawful for any person 
over the age of eighty-five (85' years to 
possess, carry or use firearms, unless 
accompanied by their grandparents, 
but they shall be furnished with bows 
and arrows, providing they are first is- 
sued a hunting license, but this shall 
be free of charge to them also.” 

This bit of prairie whimsey has its 
serious side. Already more than a 
dozen states have provided free hunt- 
ing and/or fishing licenses for either the 
overage or the physically handicapped 
and, in some cases, veterans. Unfortu- 
nately, however, most states are stingy 
with such gratuities because federal aid 
for fish and wildlife conservation is 
doled out according to what a state 
takes in from its sales of hunting and 
fishing permits. It’s a rare politician 
who can pass up even a fraction of a 
federal grant. 

Except perhaps for Jess Angstman, 
Montana politicians are no exception 
to this rule. In less time than it takes 
to tell it, the Montana legislature’s 
Fish and Game Committee killed 
Angstman’s bill, leaving Montana's 
sporting oldsters right where they 
started and casting a heavy blanket of 
gloom over the sheriff, his friends at 
Havre— and SI. 


Old Mr. Young 

T he post office at Peoli, Ohio occu- 
pies a corner of the grocery store 
and it’s a big week when Postmistress 
Annetta Mathews has a hundred let- 
ters to handle. And usually 25 to 50 of 
these letters are addressed to one cer- 
tain party, old Mr. Young, who lives 
about a mile down the road. 

Here recently the post office depart- 
ment decided Peoli didn’t need a post 
office to handle the piddling amount 
of mail that came through. Mrs. Mat- 
hews felt bad and she mentioned the 
fact to old Mr. Young next time he 
dropped in. 

Old Mr. Young (who’s 87 now i shook 
his head and agreed with Mrs. Mat- 
hews that this was no way for the post 
office people to do. He said it wasn’t 
only a black eye for the town, but fur- 
thermore it would be unfair to all the 
kids who wrote to him for autographs 
and advice. Old Mr. Young said, by 
golly, he had a mind to take it up with 
his congressman, Frank Bow, there in 
Washington, D.C. 

And he did, too. And in no time at 
all the word came back that Peoli’s 
post office was going to stay right where 
it was, in the corner of the grocery store, 
if only to handle old_Mr. Young’s mail. 

A drummer standing around thestore 
when the word came asked, “Who’s this 
old Mr. Young that rates so much at- 
tention from a congressman down in 

“Oh,” said Mrs. Mathews, “he just 
happens to be Cy Young, the pitcher. 
He just won 511 games pitching in the 
big leagues. More’n any other pitcher 
ever won. That’s all he is.” 

Brithers a’ 

T hings were popping in the world of 
curling last week. Sixteen women 
curlers from the U.S. and Canada were 
touring Scotland and playing before 
television cameras over there. At the 
same time, a men’s team of 20 Scottish 
curlers was nearing the end of a U.S. 
tour that took in Illinois, Wisconsin, 
Minnesota, Michigan, New York and 
Boston. Last Sunday morning a group 
of players sat around the St. Andrews 
Golf Club in Yonkers, N.Y., where a 
series of matches were played, and 
speculated on the wonder and the 
meaning of it all. 

“There are two opinions about the 
game of curling,” said Rene Clarke, a 
gray-haired New York advertising man 
and member of the Caledonian team. 
“One opinion is that curling is the 
most fascinating game in the world and 
the other opinion is that it’s the silliest. 

And you must take one view or the 
other— there's nothing in between.” 

Mr. Clarke, who counts himself 
among the fascinated, turned to Bob 
Grierson of Loch Connel, Scotland, a 
chunky, pink-cheeked young man. 

“What do you say, Bob?” 

“I wdll say this,” replied Bob Grier- 
son, a dairy farmer in the old country, 
"it’s the silliest game to watch. I 
couldn’t sit and watch two ends of 
it myself. But there’s no better game 
to play.” 

There was a lull in the conversation, 
for it was that time of morning. 

“Did you know," said Mr. Clarke, 
“that Ford Frick, the high commis- 
sioner of baseball, is a member of the 
curling team here?” 

“1 did not,” said Bob Grierson. 

“Ice water, gentlemen?” asked a 
waiter, passing by. 

Mr. Grierson threw up both hands. 
Slumped in a chair near by, Charles 
Carnegie, another member of the Scot- 
tish team, a nurseryman from the town 
of Ayr, also declined. “Water,” he said, 
"will rot your boots.” 

There had been a party for the visit- 
ing curlers the night before. Indeed, 
there had been a party every night 
since they arrived in Chicago to begin 
their tour on Jan. 9th. Parties and 
curling go together, for it is above all 
a sociable game. In fact, the interna- 
tional motto of the curling fraternity 
is: “We’re Brithers A’.” And when a 
curler gets britherly, he goes all the 
way. For instance, the Scottish players 
were quartered at the homes of their 
American hosts. And it was understood 
that on the night table beside the bed 
of each man there was always to be a 

bottle of Scotch. This is no passing 
fancy with the curlers: it is an article 
of faith. In one of the first, sets of by- 
laws drawn up in Scotland, it was stat- 
ed clearly: "Whisky punch to be the 
usual drink ... to encourage the 
growth of barley.” 

The game itself (confirmed curlers 
do not like the comparison) is a kind of 
shuffleboard played on the ice. Forty- 
pound stones with handles on them are 
sent sliding along the ice toward a 
painted bull’s-eye, called “The House.” 
Players are able to make the stones 
curve in or out, like a golfer’s slice or 
hook. As the stone moves toward the 
target the other members of the team 
or “rink” run alongside with short 
mincing sidesteps, sweeping furiously 
with brooms (the Scots prefer long- 
handle brushes) to clear the ice of par- 
ticles and also to create what curlers 
fondly believe to be a "vacuum” just 
ahead of the stone. This sweeping, curl- 
ers swear, will add up to 12 feet to a 
stone’s distance. 

Maybe somebody smart enough 
could give the curlers an argument 
about the vacuum. But nobody can 
deny that the curlers seem to have 
more fun than almost anybody — on 
and off the ice. And the beauty of it, 
say the curlers, is that the game can 
be played as long as a man is able to 
stand— and is truly interested in en- 
couraging the growth of barley. 

If spring comes . . . 

F rom Dallas, Texas last week 
came a reliable sign of fall (yes, 
fall): the Southern Methodist football 
squad began spring training. 

FEBRUARY 14, 1955 





The nation’s No. 1 canine event, which starts this Monday in New York, provides 
a comprehensive look at the big business of showing dogs for love, profit or sport 


O VER the coming weekend 2,537 of 
the best show dogs in America— 
including most of those pictured in Si’s 
color foldout opposite — will invade 
New York City with their owners and 
handlers in preparation for the nation’s 
No. 1 canine event, the Westminster 
Kennel Club show in Madison Square 
Garden (Feb. 14, 15). 

Every one of them a blue ribbon 
winner (except the puppies), the dogs 
will come from nearly every state in 
the Union, as well as Canada and Vene- 
zuela, to compete for the greatest single 
honor in the U.S. dog world— a win at 
Westminster. The Westminster event 
is the biggest indoor show of the win- 
ter, the climax of the canine year and 
the beginning of a new season. It is 
also the oldest consecutive show in the 
country, having been staged without 
a break since 1877. 


This is a tribute not only to the 
Westminster but to the sport of show- 
ing dogs in general— one which large 
numbers of people pursue with consid- 
erable passion for a variety of reasons. 
To some it is a sport, to others a hobby; 
still others do it because they like dogs 
or simply because they like money, 
of which sizable amounts are involved. 
But whether it is a professional hand- 
ler from the West Coast with 20 or 30 
dogs, or an amateur owner with his pet 
on his lap, the goal of all exhibitors at 
the upcoming show will be the same— 
to win a Westminster ribbon. 

But before the show is over and 
1955’s champions have been named, 
tempers will flare; angry accusations 
will be made and as hotly denied; there 
won’t be enough room; there’ll be a 

hundred complaints; the noise in the 
Garden’s basement will be like bedlam, 
and upstairs in the judging rings it will 
be quiet enough to hear a pin drop. At 
the end of it all the top judge, Albert 
E. Van Court, of Los Angeles, will go 
before a crowd of 10,000 and with a 
flick of his finger pick the best dog in 
the show— the highest prestige award 
a dog can win in the U.S. 

Few people realize that the sport of 
breeding and comparing purebred dogs 
is one of the oldest in the w-orld. It was 
going strong long before Egypt’s pyra- 
mids were built, and down through the 
ages it has managed to survive the rise 
and fall of many dynasties and em- 
pires. In the U.S. the sport had its be- 
ginning in the 1870s, primarily among 
the sporting gentry. 

The first bench show was held in 
Hempstead, L.I., N.Y. in 1874. There 
was no authoritative pedigree stud 
book in those days and many of the 
dogs entered were anything but pure- 
bred. Records of these shows also indi- 
cate a propensity for chicanery among 
the exhibitors of the day and dishon- 
esty on the part of the judges. 

These conditions flourished to such 
a degree that in September of 1884 a 
group of gentlemen fanciers met in 
Philadelphia to create a national or- 
ganization to rule the sport. The group 

they formed was the National Bench 
Show Association, later to be renamed 
the American Kennel Club. Its first act 
was to start a stud book in which pedi- 
grees were registered and certified, and 
from that time on dog shows began to 
be honest— though there are still those 
of the fancy, as they call themselves, 
who stoutly maintain that complete 
honesty has never quite been achieved. 

Today no dog show of any conse- 
quence can be held in this country with- 
out the blessing of the AKC, which is 
actually an association of 335 dues- 
paying regional and breed clubs. The 
AKC is the official arbiter of the 
whole dog show sport and watches 
closely to see that all of its 5,000 rules 
are strictly carried out. It licenses all 
the judges (about 2,300) and the pro- 
fessional handlers (about 1,000), and 
levies fines or suspends them for any 
proven infractions after a trial hearing. 
It is the AKC which publishes the 
standards of perfection for each breed, 
against which all dogs are judged. Each 
breed has its own standards and no two 
are the same. So far no dog has ever 
been found that met all the require- 
ments of its breed. 

Of the 22.5 million dogs in America 
about a third are purebred and it is 
these which make up the show-dog 
population. At present there are about 



Seven pages in color; portraits of 18 show dog 
champions and a genealogy chart painted for SI 
by Arthur Singer, tracing origin of 119 breeds 



boxer Ch. Bang Away of Sirrah Crest won the top event at the 
Westminster show in 1951 and made history in 1954 by winning 
his 100th best-in-show award the highest total so far. Bang Away 
is owned by Dr. and Mrs. Rafael Harris of Santa Ana, Calif. 


borzoi Ch. Rachmaninoff, bred and owned by Katherine E. 
and Weldon J. McCluskey of Patchogue, N.Y., won best-of-breed 
at the Westchester show in September. Developed in its native 
land for hunting wolves, breed is often called Russian wolfhound. 

IRISH terrier Ch. Ahtram Golden Chunce was best of his 
breed at the Westchester show and will probably compete against 
other terriers at Westminster next week. This breed is a good 
guard dog as well as being an old favorite in the hunting field. 

AFGHAN HOUND Ch. Taejon of Crown Crest, best hound at 
last year's show, will compete again at Westminster next week. 
A superb specimen of a breed which dates back to UOOO B.C., 
this champion is owned by Kay Finch of Corona Del Mar, Calif. 

Scottish terrier Ch. Edgerstoune Troubadour was 
named best dog at the Westchester show, the nation's biggest be- 
fore Westminster. Troubadour's owners, Dr. and Mrs, W, Stewart 
Carter of Buechel, Ky., are considering entering him in big event. 

bulldog Kippax Fearnought, owned by Dr. J. A. Saylor of 
Long Beach, Calif., is an import from England and is one of the 
best bulldogs seen in this country for many years. A finalist at 
the last Westminster show, Kippax is entered again this year. 

MINIATURE schnauzer Ch. Handful’s Bantam, owned Pomeranian Ch. Salisbury's Pride O'Possession carried off 

by Gene Simmonds of Joppa, Md., was lead dog in the best team the best -of- winners award at 1954 Westminster and went best- 

sit last Westminster show and will be out to win the honor again. of-breed at Westchester in September. This bitch is the 33rd 

The miniatures of this breed are the most popular in the U.S. champion owned by Mrs. R. J. Webber of Newton Centre, Mass. 

standard poodle Ch. Alfonco von der Goldenen Kettp is 
an import from Germany and is owned by Pennyworth Clairedale 
Kennels of Hampton Bays, L.I. He reached championship status 
in only seven shows and will be seen at Westminster next week. 

NEWFOUNDLAND Ch. Little Bear's James Thurber, owned 
by R. E. Dowling Realty of New York, is ranking dog of his breed 
today. Both his mother and father were West minster winners and 
at Westchester show he was named best of Newfoundland breed. 

cocker spaniel iascob) Ch. C armor’s Rise and Shine 
became top dog in 1954 after winning best-in-show at Westmin- 
ster. His owner, Mrs. Carl E. Morgan of High Point, N.C., hits said 
that Rise and Shine will not defend his title at next week’s show. 

lhasa apso Ch. Hamilton Samada is owned by Mr. and Mrs. 
C. S. Cutting of Gladstone, N.J. and is descended from the special 
breed of dogs given by the Dalai Lama of Tibet as good luck omens 
to imperial families of China in 1583 during Manchu Dynasty. 




'\k. Ipl 








W HEN man first became interested in the breeding of dogs, it 
was generally thought that the wolf was the common ances- 
tor of all canines. The best scientific evidence available, however, 
now indicates it was a small creature much like the civet cat , which 
was called Tomarctus and lived 15 million years ago. Tomarctus 
is so pictured on this chart, and the black lines branching out from 
him lead to the four earliest breeds of dogs, all wild and all now 
extinct. From these developed, before 6000 B.C., the four general 
groups of modern domestic dogs. The blue lines at the left of the 
chart show how herd dogs descend from Canis familiaris metris- 
optimae. The group to the right, joined by ochre lines, shows how 
closely related the large hunting dogs are to the small toy dogs. 
The red lines show that hounds and terriers fall into one group. 
The gray lines at far right connect the guard dogs. The dotted 
lines indicate important breed crossings among the 119 dogs 
shown here. The origin of some breeds, however, is a mystery, par- 
ticularly that of the Puli, which has baffled experts for centuries. 




bloodhound Ch. Giralda's King Kole, owned by Mrs. M. 
Hartley Dodge of Madison, N.J., look best-in-breed and best-of- 
hound "roup at Westchester show. In spite of formidable appear- 
ance, bloodhounds are usually placid and affectionate by nature. 

OLD ENGLISH sheepdog Ch. Shepton Blushing Maid was 
a stand-in for the lead dog in King of Hearts on Broadway as well 
as being top winning show dog. Best of her breed at Westchester 
show, she is owned by Louise Acheson of BriarelifT Manor, N.Y. 


samoyed Ch. Silver Spray of Wychwood won best-of-breed 
at the Westchester show and has been entered in the Westmin- 
ster event by owner, Bernice B. Ashdown of Manhasset, N.Y. 
Samoyeds, most glamorous of all working dogs, come from Siberia. 

skye terrier Ch. Merrymont Old Andy of Iradell was top 
dog of his breed at the Westchester show and will aim at higher 
honors next week at the Westminster in Madison Square Garden. 
He is owned by Mrs. N. Clarkson Earl Jr. of Ridgefield, Conn. 

basset hound Ch. Pride of Lyn-Mar Acres, owned by 
John T. Briel of Bordentown, N.J., is one of the best bassets 
in the country. A popular breed, they have the coloring of a fox- 
hound, the head of a bloodhound and the legs of a dachshund. 

YORKSHIRE terrier Ch. Star Twilight of CIu-Mor is all- 
time champion of his breed and won best-toy ribbon at the last 
Westminster show. Owned by Mrs. L. S. Gordon Jr. and Janet 
Bennett of Glenview, 111., he will be competing again this year. 


DOG SHOW continued from page 22 

25,000 living dog champions in the 
U.S., 3,000 having been entered in 
the AKC. records during 1953. The 
AKC. divides purebred dogs into six 
major categories— sporting, nonsport- 
ing, hound, working, terrier and toy. 
It is under these same groupings that 
dogs are shown and judged. 

Most popular breeds today, judged 
by numbers registered with the AKC., 
are 1 ) beagles, 2 ) boxers, 3) cocker span- 
iels, 4 ) dachshunds, 5) Chihuahuas. 

Dogs compete against those of their 
own breed first. If they win, they then 
compete against the breed winners in 
the other group categories; and finally 
the group winners compete for the 
best-in-show award. For each win at a 
major show a dog is credited with a 
certain amount of points to which it 
keeps adding until it has a total of 15, 
which is championship status. When it 
reaches this ultimate (called “being 
finished” by the fancy) the dog is en- 
titled to the prefix “Ch.” on its name. 

The cost of showing a dog can be lit- 
tle or a great deal. To take extreme 
examples, the owners of the champion 
boxer Bang Away of Sirrah Crest, Dr. 
and Mrs. Rafael Harris, of Santa Ana, 
Calif., reckon it has cost them about 
$30,000 to campaign their dog to 100 
best-in-show wins. On the other hand, 
Mrs. Edythe Ellis, of Shady Side, 
Md., finished her champion Pug, Edy- 
Norm’s Mr. Biff, for a total cost of $19. 

Whereas at one time it was consid- 
ered a mark of social prestige to have 
at least one dog entered in the West- 

minster show each year, today’s exhibi- 
tors are mostly people of modest means 
who own just a few dogs and run their 
kennels themselves. A large majority 
of the fancy, however, own only one 
dog, which they keep as a family pet. 

The Westminster Kennel Club itself 
is something of a contradiction. It has 
no kennel (and hasn’t had one for 50 
years) and no clubhouse; it owns not 
one single dog, and it doesn’t require 
its members to own or breed them. In 
fact, apart from its one dog show a 
year, the only other activity of the 
club is to meet for dinner once a month. 
The club today is primarily an exclu- 
sive group of New York businessmen 
who enjoy perpetuating a legacy of 
lofty ideals for the sake of Ameri- 
ca’s second oldest consecutive sporting 
event (after the Kentucky Derby)— 
the Westminster Dog Show. 


The Westminster’s history, howev- 
er, is rich in tradition. Formed in 1877 
by a group of wealthy New Yorkers, 
the club opened large kennels, a pigeon 
shooting course and a live-in clubhouse 
at Babylon, L.I. The success of their 
first dog show in 1877 was such that the 
members dedicated themselves to mak- 
ing the show an annual event and the 
best in the nation— something the club 
has continued to achieve without in- 
terruption for the past 78 years. 

The kennels and clubhouse in Baby- 
lon had to be closed down after pigeon 
shooting was abolished in N.Y. State, 
and the club took office space in Man- 
hattan. Members continued to carry 
on the dog show tradition left by the 
founders. The present 90-odd members 

first Westminster held in 1877 in Gilmore’s Garden, N.Y. included many dogs of 
dubious pedigree, but, as this artist’s impression shows, attracted a fashionable public. 

of the club are mostly bankers, lawyers 
and brokers. About 20 of these meet 
once a month for dinner, and the dog 
enthusiasts among them work on the 
dog show committees. Only about half 
of Westminster’s members are dog 
show people. The club hires a profes- 
sional superintendent to organize the 
annual dog show but makes up its own 
lists of judges. 

Membership in the club is by invita- 
tion and is rarely offered. New mem- 
bers are added only to replace those 
who die. 

The record books of Westminster’s 
historic past, which are now kept in the 
club's three-room New York office on 
East 60th Street, shed an illuminating 
light on the early dog shows. 

“If it is canine it is eligible” seems 
to have been the rule, considering the 
vicious and obscure beasts which some- 
how found their way into the judging 
rings. Not even four legs were required 
of the dogs. A brown two-year-old 
bitch called Nellie was entered in the 
miscellaneous class with a program 
note explaining that she had been born 
with only two legs. An Australian wild 
dog was entered in the first show but 
when the judges saw that its owner 
listed his address as Central Park Me- 
nagerie, they gave it a wide berth in 
fear of their lives. Dogs of royalty were 
a great attraction and two deerhounds 
called Dagmar and Oscar "bred by 
Her Majesty the Queen of England 
from the late Prince Consort’s famous 
breed” were offered for sale at $100,000. 
A Siberian wolfhound bred by the czar 
of Russia was on sale at $10,000 al- 
though it was listed as “pedigree un- 
known.” Prizes in those days were sim- 
ilarly lavish. They included such things 
as a “Gold and Silver Mounted Pearl 
Handled Revolver” and a “Russian 
Leather Silver Mounted Fly Book and 
One Gross of Assorted Flies." 

Today the Westminster prizes are sil- 
ver medals and bowls and cash prizes, 
as well as ribbons. Whatever changes 
the future may hold for this dog show 
one thing is certain— a win at West- 
minster will always remain the cher- 
ished ambition of all dog exhibitors. 




B ecause improper handling in the 
show ring can ruin the chances of 
even the best dog, most owners hire 
professionals to do the job. About 1,000 
professional handlers are licensed by 
the American Kennel Club, and their 
average fee is about $20. Some of the 
top handlers are under contract to cer- 
tain owners who have first call on their 
services. Fees for contract services can 
run from $5,000 to $10,000. 

The professional handler’s job is to 
condition the dog for the show and 
then handle it during the judging. A 
good handler knows how to hide a dog’s 
weak points and play up its strong 
points. He can straighten a crooked leg 
or make a too short neck a little longer 
just by clipping the dog’s coat the right 

During the judging it is common for 
handlers to use a number of ploys guar- 
anteed to show off their dog to better 
advantage — or disparage that of the 
competition. Some of the ploys are: 
Vie for the best position and keep it; 
reset your dog every time the judge 
moves around so he sees only the dog’s 
best side; pose your dog, seemingly in- 
advertently but actually on purpose, 
so that it obscures the judge’s view of 
the better bitch next to it; “piano- 
play” the dog’s strongest points— 
meaning fuss and run your hand over 
t he dog’s good poi n t s so t he j udge’s eyes 
are drawn away from the had. 

Perhaps the biggest reason why own- 
ers hire handlers is because they them- 
selves are too nervous to do the job. 



But a dog must not only measure up 
to the physical standards of its breed; 
it must also have the proper character. 
A watchdog must be alert and coura- 
geous, a field dog responsive and obe- 
dient, a terrier audacious, a herd and 
sled dog poised and sagacious, and a 
toy, usually a replica of a larger breed, 
must possess the same characteristics 
plus a certain affectionate dependence. 

Since no perfect dog has ever been 
found, the actual practice of judging 
varies somewhat from the theory. In- 
stead of comparing each dog against 


T he most important figures at a dog 
show are the judges — and West- 
minster's panel of 46 experts (21 of 
them women > are the pick of the 2,300 
licensed by the American Kennel Club. 
Heading this year’s list is a Los Ange- 
les invest ment counselor, Albert E. Van 
Court, who will judge the hest-in-show 
event. A former breeder of dachshunds, 
Mr. Van Court has been a leading judge 
for the past 15 years. 

His task at the show, after other 
judges have chosen breed winners and 
group winners, will be to find the dog 
which most nearly conforms to its own 
breed standards. These standards are a 
description of the physical and mental 
attributes which enable that kind of 
dog to perform the special functions 
for which it has been bred. In certain 
breeds, lor instance, the coat must be 
weather resistant and the standard will 
emphasize the quality of the coat; in 
another breed, speed may be essential 
and the standard of this breed will em- 
phasize the legs, feet and streamlined 
body. The judge scores each dog on a 
points system, giving so many points 
per attribute out of a possible hundred. 

the standard of its breed, the judge 
chooses one dog which he considers 
nearest to the standard, and then com- 
pares the others to this dog. Running 
his hands over the dog’s body the 
judge checks its “type” (conformation ) 
against its breed’s standards and then, 
with a careful inspection of eyes, teeth, 
ears, etc., examines it for physical con- 
dition (soundness). The handler is then 
asked to gait the dog at a run so that 
the judge can see it in motion in the 
ring. At this point, ring presence and 
show personality enter into the adjudi- 
cation. A show dog should be obedient, 
should display showmanship qualities 
and should move with smooth action. 
The dog scoring the highest number 
of points in both type and soundness, 
plus the rest, is the winning dog. 

FEBRUARY 14. 1955 


WESTMINSTER continued from page SI 


T he frightening task of bring- 
ing together under one roof at the 
same time 2,500 highly strung and 
priceless show dogs, plus their owners 
and handlers, is a job so nearly impos- 
sible that only one man in the country 
has for the past 27 years been allowed 
to do it. He is 72-year-old George 
Foley of Philadelphia, the professional 
superintendent of the Westminster 
show since 1928. 

Normally a quiet-voiced little man 
with the kindly patience and demean- 
or of a Sunday School teacher, Foley's 
lifetime of bossing the nation’s top dog 
shows has left him with the tenacity of 
a deaf bulldog, and if provoked, the 
fighting instincts of a great Dane. 


Foley found out a long time ago 
that there was no such thing as a 
smoothly run dog show. A show’s suc- 
cess can be judged only in how low 
the number of trouble-making inci- 
dents can be kept. His basic principle 
for running a good dog show is simple, 
if hard to carry out: make everybody 
obey the rules. 

As head of the Foley Dog Show Or- 
ganization, Inc., which handles 140 
shows (indoor and out) a year and is 
the largest firm of its kind in the 
world, Foley tries to make the rules 
stick — and in doing so has become 
czar of the canine world and probably 
the most controversial personality in 
the business. Foley has learned to dis- 
regard this; he has work to do. Each 
year he packs up to 100,000 square feet 
of canvas, $250,000 worth of benching 
and ring equipment, 35 salaried hands 
and all the equipment., blue ribbons, 
catalogs and mechanical stake-drivers 
necessary for a dog show into five trail- 
er trucks and sets out from his Phila- 
delphia headquarters to set up and 
oversee the nation’s top shows. 

Depending upon size, he charges a 
fee of $500 $25,000 per show. His big- 
gest headaches come at shows like the 
Westminster. Apart from the months 
of preparation, printing of the premi- 
um list and catalogs and handling of 
thousands of entries, Foley’s team of 
hired help and staffers work around 
the clock, much like a circus crew, 
throughout the entire two-day event. 
To ensure safety for the purebred dogs 
benched overnight in the Garden, 
Foley has teams of Pinkerton detec- 
tives supplementing his own guards 

george foley became professional 
supervisor of Westminster show in 1928. 

and officials on the doors. Every un- 
used and locked exit door is fastened 
with a Foley seal (a paper sticker) to 
make sure nobody gets in or out ex- 
cept through the proper gates. While 
the show is on, Foley prowls around 
the rings and down in the basement 
snuffing out the scent of trouble like 
an old gun dog flushing quail. 

Foley left a $24-a-week job as a 
fishing tackle salesman in 1902 to run 
his first dog show and today, with 
5,000 shows behind him, he shudders 
at the thought of the things that can 
go wrong. In the heat of blue-ribbon 
competition some owners, with thou- 

sands of dollars and large chunks of 
their own vanity and ego invested 
in the dogs, will stop at nothing short 
of murder to win— and even that 
has been tried more than once. A 
prize Boston terrier owned by Frank 
Brumby, of Long Island, was fed 
ground glass and died before it could 
get into the ring and a best-in-show 
contender was once slashed with a 

In addition to attempts at murder- 
ing the competition, belladonna has 
been put into a dog’s eyes to make 
them shine more winningly; badly 
marked dogs have been dyed; others 
have had spots painted on them with 
boot black; judges have been accused 
of favoritism and outright dishonesty, 
and at least one has been banished 
from the ring for having the smell of 
drink on his breath. Hardly a show 
goes by that Foley doesn’t have to 
referee a quarrel, calm down upset los- 
ers and convince at least six people 
that the judge hasn’t been fixed. 

Exhibitors caught breaking any of 
the rules are reported to the AKC. 
for disciplinary action and possible 
banishment from the sport. 

Looking back over his career Fo- 
ley, who has never been bitten by a 
dog, still hasn’t made up his mind 
which cause him the most trouble— 
people or dogs. Dog or man, he thinks 
it all depends on environment and 



mi ^ t~ 

i £ 



A CORDING to a recent survey made 
by the Gaines Dog Research Cen- 
ter, there are now 22.5 million dogs 
in the U.S., of which about a third 
are purebred. Some 17 million families 
— about 4 0 ' j of all American homes — 
own one or more dogs, with the South 
having the most. Catering to this enor- 
mous group of modern-day canines has 
created in this country an active indus- 
try with the highly respectable turn- 
over of more than $500 million annual- 
ly. Dog lovers last year, for example, 
bought nearly two billion pounds of 
prepared dog food at an estimated cost 
of $250 million. 

Of the 17,000 veterinarians in Amer- 
ica about 13,000 work with dogs and 
other small pels. There are 2,300 hos- 
pitals where dog ailments can be treat- 
ed, and $50 million are spent yearly on 
dog remedies and veterinary services. 
Today, whether it likes it or not, the 
American dog is an emancipated crea- 
ture with all the benefits of modern 
civilization, including such things as 
psychiatrists, dude ranches and even 
“college” educations at its disposal. 

Two decades ago when they began 
making a dog food called Pard, Swift & 
Co. was afraid to put their name on the 
can. It would be like Tiffany’s selling 
horse collars, they thought. Not until 
the dog food business was booming did 
the company finally allow their name 
on the cans — and then only in small 
print. Dog food has come a long way 
since then. Today it is accepted as be- 
ing virtually as pure in content and 
preparation as similar foods for human 

In catering to the tastes of humans 
who want to make people out of dogs, 
manufacturers have built up a fantas- 
tic $25 million-a-year business in dog- 
gy clothes, grooming aids and services. 

As early as 1934, a sign of times to 
come in the dog business was revealed 
in the catalog of Abercrombie & Fitch 
which advertised “goggles for motor- 
ing dogs and a mustache cup dish for 
spaniels.” Among the items of dog eso- 
terica available today are maternity 
coats with let-out and move-back but- 
tons, Scottish outfits, canine candy, a 
roto-romp exerciser for weight reduc- 
ing and centrally heated dog houses. 

Thousands of dog beauty parlors give 
dogs bubble baths, permanent waves 
and manicures, and Poodles by Dana 
Inc., a New York firm, will dye dogs 
the color of their owner’s costume. 


Clothes for dogs have become a prof- 
itable fad and some of the world’s top 
stylists have designed garments for 
them. Mr. John, of New York City, will 
make cocktail hats for dogs starting at 
$35. Most department stores and pet 
shops across the nation carry a variety 
of dog accessories. Macy’s offers a mink 
collar coat ($19.98). Such items as 
sequin-studded collars trimmed with 
ermine tails, red terry cloth morning 
robes, pearl barrettes and imitation 
emerald earrings can be bought in 
many shops. Some stores, like Ham- 
macher Schlemmer in New York City, 
specialize in dog items like polo coats 
for the country and dog boots. One of 
its best selling items today is a dog per- 
fume named Kennel #9 (1 oz. $3). 

The Dog’s Own Shop, in New York’s 
Greenwich Village, offers for dogs a re- 
movable chest protector, leather shoes, 
and four-legged white bath pajamas. A 
Texan was so pleased with some silver 
hair clips which Linz Bros., “Jewelists.” 

of Dallas made for his poodle, that he 
ordered a $250 diamond-studded white- 
gold set for Sundays. 

For city dog owners there are now 
canine walkers and dog sitters. For 
dogs wishing to get away from it all 
there are places like the Dog Bath Club 
in Manhattan (three large running 
tracks, a sun deck and outdoor swim- 
ming pool), the Valley Country Club 
for Pets on Long Island, and the Dude 
Ranch for Dogs at Big Bear Lake, 
Calif. If the problems run deeper, Clar- 
ence E. Harbison, of Darien, Conn., a 
dog psychologist who has treated hun- 
dreds of neurotic pets, can be called 
in. For purposes of higher education 
there is John Behan’s New England Ca- 
nine College, which takes only resident 
“students” and specializes in cases with 
personality problems. Dogs afraid of 
traffic undergo orientation courses lis- 
tening to traffic noises on records. 

At the Canine University in New 
York dogs are taught to live with hu- 
mans, while a school for dogs in Chi- 
cago goes a step further and also offers 
courses teaching humans how to live 
with dogs. 

In Hartsdale, N.Y. more than 25,- 
000 dogs rest in peace among the ma- 
ple groves in America's biggest ceme- 
tery for pets. Some dogs interred here 
have had elaborate funerals with lying- 
in-state periods of several days and five 
lie in a $25,000 mausoleum. 

At man’s side since the Paleolithic pe- 
riod, dogs are today increasing in pop- 
ulation four times faster than humans, 
but experts foresee no immediate 
problems — not as long as the public con- 
tinues to kill pets with kindness. e~ n~d) 

canine finery now available extends to items like living room beds upholstered in 
leopard- and zebra-skin materials and natty waistcoats adorned with costume jewelry. 

FEBRUARY 14. 1955 


So Easy.. So Simp/e 



D«pl SI-2, 

Koloma 100, Michigan 

Please send Free 
Booklets and Pocket 
Fishing Calendar. 

With a Spin -Wondered, 
your line is never fouled 
bail wires, knobs or pick-up 
devices . . . it's always at your finger-tip. Pick 
it up with your index finger . . . back up 
the crank a fraction of a turn . . . make your 
cast! So easy, so simple, you can operate 
it blindfolded. Five models, $13.50 to 
$27.50; No. 1760 has right-side crank. 


See your dealer; try this 
outfit! "Two Minutes, Two 
Simple Motions". . . that's 
all it takes to learn! 

'and fishing caiinVar 

"New Ways to Use Spinning T ackle", 
'Ho* to Choose and Use Fly Tac- 
lde". "Catching Big Fish— Bait Cast- 
ing", and 1955 Fishing Calendar. 



Especially useful for 
high-handicap golfers 

from Wl LLI E HUNTER, pro at the Riviera Country Club 

W hen the ball lies on the apron only a foot or so from the green, a 
sensible club to use sometimes is the famous “Texas wedge,” the 
putter. However, when the ball is lying fairly well back on the apron 
and the apron is shaggy as it is on most courses that are not baked 
out like many in Texas — a putted ball is subject to all sorts of little kicks 
that throw off both the direction and the calculated distance. Knowing 
this, a good many players play this chip from off the green with a wedge 
or niblick, attempting to loft the ball up near the flag with some bite 
on it. That's a dangerous and difficult shot, too. There’s a happy medi- 
um, I believe — the flat little pitch-and-run played with the five, six, 
or seven iron. 

I call this the pitch-and-run, the traditional term, but maybe the 
phrase pitch-and-putt would describe the type of shot more clearly. 
What the player aims to do is pitch the ball, in a relatively low arc, so 
that it carries over the unpredictable bounces of the apron, lands on the 
front of the evenly cut green, settles down after a bounce or two and 
runs like a putt to the flag. The golfer must estimate the spot on the 
green where he wishes to land the ball, gauging the run it will then have 
if it is to roll on and expire close by the cup. It is a relatively easy shot 
to master and a great saver of strokes. 

Playing a chip shot from Ihe apron, Willie 
Hunter uses a seven iron (left), which he 
grips in his fingers low on leather of shaft 

Hooding the club slightly. Hunter taps the ball delicately 
so it carries to the green’s surface, then rolls like a putt 


Gij -Zone State. 






ll is summer al Lake Titicaca in the Ancles, linn* lo catch a king’s ransom in rainbows 


In the late 1980s the governments of 
Peru and Bolivia introduced rainbow 
and brown trout to Lake Titicaca on 
their lofty frontier in the Andes. They 
hoped for good results— and got them. 
The success of the experiment was 
proved to the full satisfaction of, for 
one, Sen. Bourke Hickenlooper (R.. 
Iowal last October 2nd when he landed 
a 84 1 ^-pound rainbow, a fish only two 
pounds under the world record. Airline 
pilots have known of the lake's fabu- 
lous fishing for the last few years and 

have made repeated off-time trips toil. 
Today more and more traveling sports- 
men are stopping at La Paz, Bolivia to 
fish the 100-mile-long lake nearby. 

Accommodations in the little towns 
adjacent to the lake are anything but 
deluxe. The fishing, however, is of a 
caliber to make any pilgrimage bear- 
able. Few fishermen will quibble at a 
place where a three-pound rainbow is 
a nuisance to be shaken off, a ten- 
pounder is commonplace and a fish of 
double this weight a likely prospect. 

It has been possible for a man to cal •!' 
500 pounds of trout a day at Titicaca. 

It is summer there now, which i? also 
the rainy season. Because of this the 
rivers are too high, but they will be 
right from April through June. Some 
have never seen a fly, as local anglers 
prefer spinning and bait-casting out- 
fits, with largish spoons and wobblers. 

But the lake itself is worth a trip 
anytime, if only for the spectacular 
scenery, some of which is shown on 
these pages. 

TOWING A sailboat to be used later (rental: 50^ an hour., Indians set out in balsa-wood craft to put down 

a party heads for a bay. Typical fishing gear lies on the deck. 

twelve-round rainbow comes aboard. This anglers find themselves each fighting a pair of such fish 

is a fairly common size at Titicaca, and sometimes two which jump again and again in the clear mountain air. 


happy girl watches while her prize is gaffed. The fish are 
most easily taken on “hardware” — metal lures that flash or spin. 

curious Indians watch fishermen set up their rods near 
Escalani on the Peruvian side, where there are no boat facilities. 

boy with a burden, 16 pounds of rainbow trout, demon- vian government restocks the lake annually with a million small 
strates the fabulous quality of Lake Titicaca’s fishing. The Peru- trout for later harvest by the natives and visiting sportsmen. 

Driving is fun again ! 

In the days of the Stutz Bearcat, driving was a thrilling adventure — 
not just a way of getting places. Today, thanks to the sports car. driving is FUN again! 
The improvements pioneered by sports cars in roadability, suspension, acceleration. 

and braking power make today's passenger cars more fun to drive. Those 
same improvements put extra demands on today's tires. Significantly, most sports 
car builders select Dunlop tires as original equipment. Dunlops have the 
extra strength and stamina to meet the requirements of high speed cornering, fast 
acceleration and heavy braking — yet give long, trouble-free service. 

The next time you need replacement tires for your car, follow the lead 
of sports car makers the world over. Insist on Dunlop. 



Factory and Executive Offices: Buffalo 5, New York 
DUNLOP. . . Founders of the Pneumatic Tire Industry 

More sports cars ride 
on Dunlop Tires than any 
other make. 

FEBRUARY 14. 1955 


AUTHOR AND his son. Kevin, check 
records with Museum Director Sid Keener. 


Novelist James T. Farrell finds baseball's shrine at Cooperstown not 
only a rich storehouse of mementos but a wonderful stimulus for the 
memories of great days on the diamond treasured by millions of Americans 


1 0NG before the Baseball Hall of 
J Fame and Museum was established 
in Cooperstown, New York, every real 
lover of baseball carried his own Hall 
of Fame in his own mind. I was remind- 
ed of this fact when my 14-year-old 
son and I visited the Cooperstown Mu- 
seum recently. As we looked at the 
plaques, the old gloves, balls, bats, pic- 
tures and other exhibits, my own base- 
ball recollections came back to me in a 
slow flood of memory. 

When I was a boy, I would sit at the 
family dinner table listening to my un- 

cles talk baseball, and I used to hear 
them respectfully mention such great 
players as Pop Anson, A. G. Spaulding 
and Wee Willie Keeler — players who 
preceded Ty Cobb, Honus Wagner, 
Napoleon Lajoie and the other out- 
standing stars of my own boyhood. 
There is an oral tradition of baseball, 
which is passed on from generation to 
generation: it has, in itself, served as a 
kind of mythical Hall of Fame. 

I have seen most of the players now 
immortalized at Cooperstown, when 
they were in the big leagues. I was told 

of the others by my elders. I, in turn, 
have told my son of all of these play- 
ers. His first school composition was 
about King Kelly, who also is in the 
Hall of Fame. My uncles told me sto- 
ries of “Slide, Kelly, Slide.” 

We stopped before the plaque of Ed 
Walsh, the old spitball pitcher, and I 
suddenly remembered a sultry sunless 
Sunday morning in August of 1911, 
when I was just seven years old. My 
older brother and I were walking along 
Wentworth Avenue in Chicago. He 
picked up off the sidewalk a white box 
seat ticket for that afternoon’s base- 
ball game at Comiskey Park. Both of 
us were admitted on the one ticket. 
Sitting in the grandstand we watched 
Ed Walsh pitch a winning no-hit game 
against the Boston Red Sox. This was 
one of the first and also most exciting 
experiences in my long years as a base- 
ball fan. I went home spinning on air. 
And as I entered the front door, I was 
told that while we had been at the ball 
game, a new baby sister of mine had 
arrived. I replied spontaneously, not 
with these words but with this thought : 

“Good. She will always be remem- 
bered because she was born on the day 
that Ed Walsh pitched a no-hit game." 

That was more or less the beginning 
of my own private Hall of Fame. As 
the years went on, as 1 saw, lived, 
talked and read about baseball, many 
others joined Walsh there. One day my 
uncle, a traveling salesman, came home 
from a trip on the road and handed me 
the first regulation major league base- 
ball which I ever owned. He told me 
that Rube Waddell had given it to him 
for me. I learned everything 1 could 
about Rube Waddell and was almost 
ready to fight anyone who said that 
Waddell was not a great pitcher. 

the mighty babe entrances youngsters who never saw him play. At left, Rich- 
ard Mack of Manlius, N.Y. inspects the contents of Ruth’s locker. At right, Henry 
Douglas of Ramsey, N.J. shows his son Edward the Babe’s plaque in the Hall of Fame. 



original immortals elected to Hall of Fame were photo- late. Front from left, Eddie Collins, Babe Ruth, Connie Mack and 
graphed at Cooperstown in 1939. Missing were Willie Keeler and Cy Young; rear, Honus Wagner, Grover Cleveland Alexander, 
Christy Mathewson, both deceased, and Ty Cobb, who arrived Tris Speaker, Napoleon Lajoie, George Sisler, Walter Johnson. 

Standing before Rube Waddell’s 
plaque, I read that he had won more 
than 200 games in major league com- 
petition. But according to my own 
memories, Waddell had won only 193 
games. I mentioned this discrepancy to 
Sid C. Keener, the old-time baseball 
reporter who is now the director of the 
museum. Keener got out all of the rec- 
ord books from the world’s best base- 
ball library, created by Ernest Lani- 
gan, and sat at his desk in the Hall of 
Fame room, figuring and checking how 
many games Rube Waddell had really 
won. It is generally agreed that Wad- 
dell belongs with Mathewson, Grover 
Cleveland Alexander, Walter Johnson 
and Ed Walsh. But the books do not 
agree on his record. Two of them credit 
him with 203 major league victories; 
two others give him a lifetime total 
of 193. 

Details and memories of old games 
are treasured only by the fan who loves 
the game: to anyone else they are 
meaningless. But of such memories and 

recollections is baseball made. The 
Baseball Hall of Fame and Museum is 
interesting and fascinating because it 
stimulates and sometimes challenges 
these memories. 

The plaques are not the only stimu- 
li. Through the glass of a showcase I 
read the first contract of Eddie Collins, 
signed by him and Connie Mack when 
Collins was a student and a varsity 
backfield man at Columbia University. 
Collins signed his own name to the con- 
tract but played his first big-league 
year under the name of Sullivan. 


Then there are the gloves, the masks, 
the World Series rings and trophies, 
and many baseballs that figured in 
great and famous plays. You see the 
skintight glove used by Neal Ball when 
he made his unassisted triple play, and 
other gloves scarcely larger than a 
man’s hand. Looking at the cushions 
used today, one wonders how a modern 
player could make an error. 

Finally, of course, there are the pho- 
tographs. When I was a boy, I used to 
stand out front of a cigar store at 51st 
Street and Prairie Avenue in Chicago. 
I would ask every man who came out 
of the store to give me the picture of 
the baseball player which came with 
the package of cigarettes. I remember 
begging for these pictures on the day 
that Woodrow Wilson was first elect- 
ed President of the United States. For 
some reason or other I, then eight, 
wanted Wilson to win, but I wanted 
those baseball pictures more than I 
wanted Wilson in Washington. Many 
pictures like the ones I collected, looked 
at, thought about and treasured, hang 
on a wall in one of the rooms of the 

You cannot remain long in the mu- 
seum, looking about, watching the 
other visitors, overhearing chance com- 
ments and remarks without sensing 
that the atmosphere is one of senti- 
ment, nostalgia and even sentimental- 
eon/ ut wed on next page 

FEBRUARY 14. 1955 


“I tell you, Mori, if I had a good U-foot 6-inch center 
we could take our school district hands down” 

the hall itself is shown here in 
1939, when 10,000 attended the dedication. 

COOPERSTOWN continued 

ity. Many gray-haired men come and 
drift about from case to case. As they 
stare, their faces soften up. The past 
comes back to them. Boyhood and 
young manhood glow once again in 
them. Those baseballs in the cases are 
the balls that many of them never 
pitched, caught or hit on a big-league 
diamond. The uniforms are the base- 
ball suits they never wore. The plaques 
speak of the records they never broke, 
the lives they never led and the boy- 
hood dreams they never fulfilled. 

Wives do not always appreciate this. 
One day an elderly couple showed up. 
The wife was not interested in baseball. 
Calling her "dear,” the gray-haired 
husband said that he would only be a 
few minutes. She sat on a chair im- 

The few minutes became a half hour. 
She grew more nervous and began 
mumbling complaints about her hus- 

band. Then she loudly told herself that 
her husband was just ridiculous. And 
every so often the husband would come 
back to tell the bored and restless wife 
that he would be finished very quickly. 
She would upbraid him. He would go 
back and look fascinatedly at more ex- 
hibits. He kept her sitting there most 
of the afternoon. When they finally left, 
she was quarreling with him and she 
seemed convinced that her husband 
had lost his mind. 

Old ballplayers often come to the 
museum, and sometimes they, too, 
quarrel, but for different reasons. Not 
long ago two old-time pitchers, both 
well over 60, got into a discussion of a 
game they had pitched against each 
other many years ago. The younger 
one said he had won it. 

“You never beat me in that game,” 
the second old big-leaguer said. 

They grew angry and argued. 

"I beat you that game. You never 
beat me and you never could,” the 
second old-timer said in even greater 

The two old ballplayers almost came 
to blows. 


Mixed with the pleasure a baseball 
fan feels at seeing the mementos in 
the museum is a sense of melancholy. 
I recall visiting the ruins of Olympia, 
the site of the original Olympic games. 
The stadium was washed away in a 
flood centuries ago, but the cement 
starting line for the racers remains. 
Athletics was bound up with the reli- 
gion of ancient Greece. In America 
this is not the case, although baseball 
is deeply integrated into our culture. 



It is loved. It is also big business. 

And yet some of our great baseball 
players are thought of in somewhat 
the same terms as the athletes of an- 
cient Greece. There is one story of an 
Olympic runner who was winning his 
race. Nearing the finish line, his loin- 
cloth began to fall down. He could 
either have paused, pulled it up and 
lost the race, or else let it fall off and 
go on to be the victor. He won the 
race running stark naked. Ty Cobb 
played ball the way that ancient Greek 
ran a race. To him it must have been 
a way of life, as it was to some oth- 
ers, many of whom are gone— Ruth, 
Gehrig, Alexander, Mathewson, Eddie 
Collins. You see the plaques and pic- 
tures of these baseball players of the 
past and they stir melancholy reflec- 
tions on the biological changes and 
tragedy of man. 


Baseball historians have challenged 
the claim that Cooperstown is the real 
home of baseball. But even if this be 
granted, there is a certain appropriate- 
ness in the museum’s being located 
here. It is an old and attractive village 
on the shores of Otsego Lake. Although 
its Main Street is like many other Main 
Streets, a sense of a different pioneer 
America pervades Cooperstown. To go 
there is like breathing a little of the 
air of an earlier America. 

In the Hall of Fame room, there is 
on exhibit a homemade old ball with 
the stuffing coming out of it. It is 
somewhat smaller than the modern 
ball. It was found in an attic not far 
from Cooperstown and well might have 
been used for games of town ball, one 
o’ cat or baseball in General Abner 
Doubleday’s lifetime. Baseball was 
probably played elsewhere in the 1830s 
or early 1840s. But it was also played 
in Cooperstown. 


f Allcn-Edmonds flexibility 

r follows your foot in action 
. . . while famous nuilcss 
construction and cork 
cushioning make each 
stride to success a 
pleasure. Step into the 
upper echelon by stepping into 
Allen-Edmonds. They're guaranteed 
comfortable ... in writing! 


Let us send this issue to 

two of your 

sports-minded friends 

So many people have told us they liked 
with their friends that we’d be happy 
to help in the sharing. We’ll send a 
copy of this issue free, with your com- 
pliments, to any two friends whose 
names you give us below. 


There is a standard joke about the 
father who buys an electric train for 
his son as a Christmas present. The toy 
is for the boy. But comes Christmas 
morning and there is the old man on 
the floor amidst the tracks, engine cars, 
signals, electric motor and other para- 
phernalia. It is a question as to whom 
the toy is for, the father or the son. 
The father is playing with the train set 
he never had as a boy. I felt somewhat 
like the father of this old saw when I 
went about the Baseball Hall of Fame 
and Museum with my own son. For 
whom was the visit? My son liked it. 
But it appeared that I liked it even 
more than he. C1HM) 


SPORTS ILLUSTRATED, Dept. FS. 640 North Michigan Avenue. Chicago 11. Illinoia 
Please send a copy of this issue, without charge, to: 


City Zone State I 

2-14 | 


FEBRUARY 14. 1955 




Europe’s first expert on the subject offers advice 
to aid a vanishing species: the true amateur skier 


I N the early days of downhill racing, 
the holiday skier could hold his own 
against the career skier, and the towns- 
men of London and Paris could race on 
even terms with the Alpine peoples. In 
those days, our British ladies won two 
world championships and our best ama- 
teurs— Mackintosh, Bracken and my 
son Peter— won occasional internation- 
al competitions against the best Alpine 
aces. But by the early '30s, it was be- 
coming clear that a traveling circus of 
stars was beginning to dominate the 
races, and that the proportion of par- 
ticipants to spectators was declining 

As the top racers were all accepted 
by the Federation Internationale de 
Ski as amateurs— including those who 
taught skiing for money— the paper 
distinction between amateur and pro- 
fessional was useless to prevent what, 
in point of fact, has now happened: the 
elimination of the genuine amateur 
from the top competitions. 

Furthermore, even the paid ski in- 
structors were beginning to suffer a dis- 
advantage. While they spent hours 
every day teaching the sport, a select 
number of “amateurs” were completely 
free to practice, backed by their par- 
ents or by commercial institutions that 
often invested thousands of dollars in 
securing for their amateur the best pos- 
sible training. 

In the light of these circumstances, 
it seemed important to make a differ- 
ent distinction than the one between 
amateur and professional — namely 
that between the holiday and the ca- 
reer athlete. And by career athlete I 
mean the man who is making or intends 
to make a career of sport, either as a 
teacher, a player, an exhibition per- 
former, or by giving his name to sport- 
ing equipment or joining a sports firm 
outright. The holiday athlete, on the 
other hand, is planning for a career 
which has no connection with sport; 
and consequently, his opportunities for 
sport are limited to his leisure time. 

I felt, therefore, that an urgent need 
was developing for an important in- 

ternational event restricted to genu- 
ine holiday skiers. Accordingly, I ap- 
proached the Duke of Kent for permis- 
sion to start a race which would bear 
his name, and which would be restrict- 
ed to skiers who did not live in ski- 
ing centers. Furthermore, each entrant 
must have skied for no more than 60 
days in the previous winter season. In 
connection with this individual compe- 
tition, there was to be a townsmen’s 
team race for a cup presented by the 
Infante Alfonso d’Orleans Bourbon. 

Most of those who heard of the race 
assured me that qualifying standards 
for the Duke of Kent race would not 
work, and that the Kent qualification 
would be even more of a joke than 
Olympic amateurism. In fact, one Ital- 
ian skier told me point blank, “You 
know, my dear Arnold, in the country 
of Machiavelli, this qualification would 
be most difficult to enforce.” 

In the face of all this pessimism, the 
first race was held in 1937 and won by 
Arnold Kaech, present secretary of 
FIS. Since then the Kent Cup has 
been held 12 times, and, I am happy 
to say, the Kent qualification, unlike 
amateur standards in many other in- 

ternational competitions, has stood up. 
Whereas there is a kind of gentlemen’s 
agreement to raise no questions about 
the amateur qualifications of Olympic 
ski competitors, the entrants in the 
Duke of Kent have regarded it as a 
point of honor not to cheat on their 

The Kent race has gradually become 
the parent of a large family of oth- 
er townsmen’s or citadin competitions. 
Qualifications for these races vary, and 
none but the Kent Cup imposes the 
60-day limit. However, at the Derby 
Sciatori Cittadini at Sestrieres on Jan. 
29, and at the upcoming Le Derby 
des Skieurs Citadins at M6gdve on 
Feb. 26, all members of the national 
teams of the leading skiing countries 
are barred. 


Britain has won four Kent competi- 
tions since the war. Among the win- 
ning towns in past Infante Alfonso 
competitions are Berne, Lucerne, Oslo 
and London. It would be delightful to 
welcome a team from Los Angeles, Bos- 
ton, New York or any of the other 
American cities where skiers abound. 
For, just as in Europe, there are hun- 
dreds of holiday skiers in America who 
have a taste for international compe- 
tition, but who would have no hope 
of finishing in the first half of an Arl- 
berg-Kandahar or a Lauberhorn. They 
might, however, have a good chance of 
victory in the Kent or any of the other 
Citadin races. In any case, they would 
be most welcome as entrants in a truly 
amateur event, competing against ski- 
ers of their own caliber who have had 
comparable opportunities for practice 
and training. (end) 





Skiers at Aspen, Colorado are more 
colorful this winter than ever before 

O nly A few seasons ago, a color- 
fully dressed skier could be only 
one of two things: a snow bunny who 
didn’t know any better or a profes- 
sional good enough to get away with 
anything. The dictum for several mil- 
lion middle-of-the-track U.S. skiers was 
black, gray or navy blue, both in pants 
and parkas. The cut was the thing. 

This winter at Aspen, Colo., a serious 
ski town if there ever was one, there is 
a new spark to parkas. The traditional 
black nylon or processed cotton has 
been brightened in various ways— with 
multicolored stripes in sunbursts; with 
plaids and embroidery. For ski pants, 
however, black and gray are still the 
most popular colors. Even in Europe, 
where the most colorful of ski clothes 
originate, colored pants are not bought 
but earned. 

Other innovations at Aspen: hoods 
or knitted helmets, worn instead of the 
traditional fast caps; ski knickers, worn 
with thick waterproof socks by some of 
the Ski Patrol members. 


Honeymooners Mary and Ray Farley of 
Racine, Wis. wait for the lift at Aspen. 
Mary's black cotton parka is embroidered 
with edelweiss and came from Interlaken, 
Switzerland. She knitted Ray's handsome 
black and white figured sweater herself. 


Mrs. Ernest Gann chats with Jack Holst at the Sun Deck, Aspen's 
favorite lunching place, atop Ajax mountain. Her striped parka 
has straight lines, features a flattering notched hood. Mr. Holst 
wears a beanie for extra warmth under the hood of his parka. 

Honey Pfeifer, wife of Friedl Pfeifer, codirector of 
the Aspen ski school, wears a sunray-striped parka 
from Alli’s of Aspen for a sunny Sunday ski. Her 
good-luck piece, a St. Bernard medal which she 
won’t ski without, dangles from her belt buckle. 

University of Wisconsin Coed Mary Ann Barry heads for the 
chair lift in a plaid hooded poplin parka, cut on the bias and 
lined with nylon. Her belt features ski-pole base as center emblem. 


NS = newsnow; PO = powder; PP-packed pow- 
der; HP = hard -packed snow; HB«=hard base; 
GR- granular; FG = frozen granular; CO** corn 
snow; BC = breakable crust; UC- unbreakable 
crust; W = wet; IC-icy condition; BS=bare 
spots; DC -dangerous condition; CL = trail or 
slope closed. 

A late roundup of snow conditions in America from a picked group of local skiers 


Snoic totals continue to soar in the Western areas, as skiing rates good 
or better. Rapid temperature changes hare caused varied conditions in East 

FAR WEST: Mr. UALDY. CALIF. : Winds have 
pealed the ridges and dumped snow into the 
bowls. Base is 30 40 Ml*. Crowd of 3.500 last 
weekend caused 18-minute wait on lifts, 
si'. \ k bowl, calif.: 9 NS last week now is PP 
over maximum !*ti Hli. All trails rated excellent. 
SQUAW VAl.l.BY, CALIF. : Skiing at Squaw could 
not he much hotter than it has been this winter, 
('over now is 60 108 HI’, all trails excellent., 
weather sunny and daytime temps. 30 60, 
tit: no. NBV-: 2 PO on 48 72 HB. University of 
Nevada winter carnival comes off Feb. 11 13, 
with Denver favorite to win competitions. 

NORTHWEST: \n. noun. OKI’..: Ruin has 
been a threat here. 1 NS, W and heavy, on 106 
with 3 W on 51 at Govt. (’amp. Chair lift run- 
ning Wed. through Sun.. Multorpor Thurs,- 
Sat.-Sun.. Skyway every day. 

MT. BAKER. WASH.: Dry 1*0 has restored excel- 
lent conditions. 22 1*1* over 87 HP. Kxperis - 
Chute now skialde and very fast. Crowds have 
been moderate with no waiting lines. 
SNOQUAl.MIK PASS. WASH.: 4 NS on 79 base. 
Some trails may have sticky surfaces, and the 
upper runs can he tricky for nonexperts. 

ered from recent thaw with 1<1 11 dry PO. Base 
is 50 75 and heavy. Temp, range. 25 33. 

ROCKY MTS.: ALTA, UTAH: For the past five 
weeks it has snowed every Tuesday, the day the 
University of Utah holds classes here. Plenty of 
snow on other days too. and there now is an 18 
light PO surface on a 70 HP base with condi- 
tions just about perfect. 

aspen, colo. : Waiting time for the lifts has 
been running about lu minutes. The wait is 
worth it. however, with 3 NS over 20 40 HB, 
and all trails excellent. Watch 1C on roads. 
HB. 42nd annual winter carnival. Feb. 12 13, 
should have best snow in several years. 

SANTA fe. N. MEX.: A moderate snow storm 
scared away the crowd hist weekend. Skiing on 
open slopes and trails is fine, thanks to 10 NS. 
BANFF, alberta: This is one of few major ski 
areas iri North America now short on snow. Ski- 
ing is none to poor. 

whitepisii mont.: 7 9 NS "ii 36 i" packed, 
with trails rated excellent. Snow treads or 
chains a must for motorists. 

recurring falls of 2 3 PO over a 24 30 base. 
Skiing excellent. 

tun mt., wis.: 2 PO nil 9 HP base has provid- 
ed best skiing of the winter. College crowds are 
giving the area heavy play on weekends. 
ISHPEMING, MICH.: 8 PO on 12 base and skiing 
is excellent. 

boyne mt.. Midi.: Conditions fast and good 
with 8 24 PPon4 HB. Michigan intercollegiate 
championships scheduled for Feb. 12 13. 

PENNSYLVANIA: 4 10 PO on 4 15 
base. Skiing good on all slopes. 

NEW YORK: BKLLEAYRE: W surface on 5 10 
base. Last Saturday had best crowd of season, 
but rain chased crowds away Sunday. 

TURIN: This resort is having its most prosperous 
winter, thanks to good snow 4 NS on 23 base 
at present and the new state thruway which 
has made Turin far more accessible to skiers. 
LAKE placid: 3 PO on 20 40 HB. Canadian and 
American girls scheduled to race for Kate Smith 
Trophy. Feb. 11 13. 

QUEBEC: MT. TREMULANT: 2 3 NS needed to 
bury last rocks on t he Sissy Schuss and pro- 
vide a PO topping for 30 51 HB. Skiing is good 

LAC BEAUPORT: 3 fluffy PO over 40 base. Skiing 
is fine, roads are clear, temps. 10 above. 

7 25 HB. Temp, range last week was from 16 
below to 34 above. 

MT. snow. vt. : PP on 10 30 totals. Area is 
now in its third month of continuous skiing. 
MAD RIVER GLEN, vt.: Two-week cold wave 
broke with snowfall of 3 NS over 20 48 IIP huso. 
Skiing rates good to excellent on all trails. 
STOWE. VT. : 1 PO "II 29 10 HB. Big crowds 
have caused up to 30-minute wait for lifts. 
FRANCONIA, N.H.: Skiers welcomed 5 fresh PO 
for 4 40 base. Conditions are good-excellent. 
NORTH Conway. N.H.: F(1 mixed with NS on 
surface over 7 10 base. Some NS would be very 

BELKNAP. N.H.: NS over 2 10 HB. Last Satur- 
day's crowd was the largest in the area's history. 
Berkshire MTS., mass.: Rain and recent thaws 
cut into the thin cover at Jiminy Peak and Otis 
Ridge. More NS needed to restore good skiing. 


MARLIN: Florida: Blues and whites moving 
into Gulf Stream from Bahamas area; visitor 
Harlow Curtice took time off from Miami Mo- 
torama to hook estimated 250-pounder, play it 
for half hour, lose it; OF through February. 
Bahamas: Blues were plentiful in waters off 
Andros Town last week and should provide 
good action: recent winds have abated. 
MEXICO: Mazatlan boats averaged nearly tw-o 
marlin per trip last week, and ()(i; lish are la- 
20 miles offshore and striking freely. 380-pound 
black brought into Acapulco dock last Friday. 

on season south of Tomales Bay opens Feb. 15; 
no closed season elsewhere on coast except east 
of Carquinez Bridge. Possession limit is three 
fish except south of Monterey-San Luis Obispo 
county line, where limit's two: FP due to cold 
weather and wrong attitude of salmon. 

0Rritisii Columbia: Poor steelheading has pro- 
duced record turnout for winter springs, with 
boats off Campbell River averaging four to five 

fish to 20 pounds. Good catches to 22 pounds 
off Oak Bay: Saanich Inlet reports small silvers 
showing: Horse Shoe Bay producing whoppers, 
and all other points near Vancouver declare KG 
and 0(1. with fresh and frozen herring or her- 
ring strip best bait. 

BLACK BASS: TENNESSEE: l'< 1 in Center Hill 
Lake (but big noise is walleyes on feeding 
spreei. D. I*. Zimmerman removed 10-pound 
14-ounce higmouth from Chiekamauga Lake 
last week to set new local record. FF in other 
lakes but should pick up as weather warms. 
north Carolina: Fontana Lake so low that one 
boat dock is now 10 miles from water, says spy. 
Louisiana: Leon Arnadee of Baton Rouge set 
new state mark with 8-pound 15-ounce large- 
mouth from False River: 0(1 there and in 
Bayou Lacasine near Jennings. 

Mississippi: 0(1 in Biloxi River and Pearl Riv- 
er backwaters; minnows and shrimp best bait.. 
Florida: Lakes in central Florida producing 
well as weather warms (but winds are high 
enough to dump boats and drown fishermen 
on lugger waters i: Lakes Harris. Little Harris. 
Dora and Griffin near Leesburg among top 
producers. Withlacoochee River reports FF 
but few limits. In south. F(1 in most fresh wa- 
ter: try top-water plugs, bugs or bucktails on 
both sides of culverts along Tamiami Canal 
right up to Miami city limits. 

NEVADA: Lake Mead improving; Overton arm 
best area but, with low water and displaced 
fish, a guide is a good investment. 

California: FF and improving at Havasu 
Lake: old-timers predict two- week-early spring. 
In north. Shasta and Clear lakes producing 
for experts. 

Missouri: Lake of the Ozarks (Niangua region) 
in top condition and FG with plugs and min- 
nows; bass are averaging 3 pounds. In Gravois 
arm area water is clear, FF and 0(1. 

week's rain may have nudged runs into river 
to end dullish spell; no signs at press time. 
OREGON: New runs in most streams, but fish 
are smaller, averaging 8 pounds; Nestucea up 
slightly and warmer, with cluster eggs and 
cherry drifters best lures: Alsea in fine shape, 
with best fishing below Five Rivers Junction, 
eggs best bait: Siletz. Salmon. Siuslaw and 
Chetco rivers are in promising condition. 
With many steelhead now near spawning stage, 
veteran sportsmen are releasing uninjured fish 
to improve future fun. 

BRITISH COLUMBIA: FI* in Vancouver Island 
streams as fish dilly-dally in salt water despite 
good levels of Campbell. Cowichan. Stamp and 
Somass rivers; mainland is hotter, with rising 
levels and new runs in Vedder, Seymour and 
Chcakamus rivers; 0(1 in all rivers. 

SAILFISH: FLORIDA : Sails are Still plentiful 
from Palm Beach south and in Vero-Stuart 
area, but bonito. dolphin and kings are getting 
the biggest play now. 

FEBRUARY 14. 1955 




CRICKET co,,,;, 

cd from page 15 

the British never seem to ehange the 
rules at all. 

And yet, oddly there is both rhyme 
and reason to it, arrived at probably 
by sheer accident when the boys were 
mucking about on the village green 
centuries ago. 


The 22-yard cricket pitch, the dis- 
tance between the point where the 
bowler must release the ball and the 

ball has hard, red leather cover. It is 
smaller than a baseball, weighs only 5' £ oz. 

stumps defended by the batsman, 
makes for an absorbing duel between 
the main disputants in the game, the 
fellow who throws the ball and the man 
with the stick. As in baseball, all kinds 
of interesting and exciting things can 
happen once the ball is released. A 
number of them are dangerous to life 
and limb, and there are as many ways 
of getting a man out as there are in 
baseball, not to mention the fact that 
the hitter is called upon to produce 
genuine miracles of coordination and 

There is no time here to explain 
cricket in detail, even if I could. Per- 
haps, however, if I were to draw some 
analogies between the problems facing 
pitchers, batters and fielders in base- 
ball and the bowlers and batters in 
cricket you may get enough of a sniff 
of this queer game to make you want 
to go to Lord's (home grounds of the 
Marylebone Cricket Club, the famous 
MCC) of an afternoon the next time 
you visit London and see it happen be- 
fore your eyes. 

We play nine men on a side, the Brit- 
ish 11. Of these, one is an active bowl- 
er, or pitcher, another the wicket keep- 
er or catcher. The latter is the only 
man to wear gloves besides the batter. 
The remaining nine men, three or four 
of whom will be bowlers, field in vary- 
ing positions on the large, oval green, 
some close up under the guns, others 
at the boundaries, their equivalent of 
our outfield. 

The fielders are placed in their po- 
sitions by the man who knows best 
where he expects the batted ball to go, 
namely, the bowler, the fellow who de- 
livers it. You have seen baseball in- 
fields and outfields shifted left or right, 
in or out, to play certain hitters, but 
the basic positions are never aban- 
doned in baseball. The cricket bowler 
sets his fielders where he thinks they 
will do the most good, including be- 
hind the batter, for the purpose of 
catching what in our game would be 
foul tips or slices off his bat. There 
are no foul balls in cricket. 

At least four of these positions are 
dangerous enough for the occupiers of 
them to qualify as blood brothers of 
the Kamikaze pilots. In baseball, the 
nearest fielder to the batter’s box (ex- 
cept, of course, for the catcher) is the 
pitcher, whose follow-through may 
bring him to within 55 feet of the bats- 
man. Babe Ruth was always afraid he 

would kill a pitcher if he really sent 
a hot one through, skull-high. 

Cricket fielders play in front of the 
batter, often within 10 yards of him — 
off to one side— outside the pitch, and 
even closer behind him, wearing no 
protection of any kind. 

As in baseball, the main function of 
the fielder, next to staying alive, is to 
assist in getting the batter out and 
keeping runs dawn. As in hasehall, the 
cricket fielder can dismiss the batter 
by catching any fly ball or liner off 
his bat before it touches the ground. 
Or, by a lively bit of pick-up and throw, 
he can field a hot grounder and get 
the ball back to the wicket keeper while 
the running batter is still out of his 
crease, or off base, as we would put 
it. He has a choice of two bases or 
wickets to throw to, since in this game 
six balls are bowled to the batter pro- 
tecting the wicket at one end of the 
pitch and then six more to the man at 
the other end. When a ball is hit by ei- 
ther, both batters run. I know it sounds 
wacky, but think, if you had never in 
your life seen baseball, how screufy a 




walk followed by a single followed by 
a double play would look. 

Further, by blocking hits with his 
feet, hands or skull the fielder can 
keep the batter from running even 
though he has hit the ball, and by 
scuttling like a frightened rabbit after 
full sweeps (solid hits' he can some- 
times prevent the ball from going over 
the boundary of the field for an auto- 
matic four runs. 

As in baseball, however, the main 
duel is between the thrower and the 
hitter. The bowler, incidentally, must 
hurl the ball with a full over-arm mo- 
tion without bending his elbow. He 
may not throw it, snap it or jerk it as is 
permitted our pitchers. It takes some 
doing. I tried that once and thought 
my arm had left my shoulder with the 


However, whereas our pitcher has 
but one direct means of disposing of 
the batter, via the strike-out, the bowl- 
er can dismiss his man in one of three 
ways. The first is if he bowls him clean- 
ly, that is to say, hits the stumps with 
the ball and knocks off the bails, two 
little pieces of wood balanced atop the 
three sticks that form the wicket. The 
second is if he can lure the batter to 
block the ball from the stumps with 
his pads instead of the bat, when he 
is called out. Leg Before Wicket, a de- 
scriptive enough term; and the third is 
if he coaxes the batter forward out of 
his crease or batter’s box, the ball is 
missed and the wicket keeper catches 
it and whips the bails off the stumps 
before the batter can get back. 

But this is not the end of the diffi- 
culties that beset the batsman. He is 
likewise called out if he breaks his wick- 
et with his own bat, or any part of his 
clothes or deflects the ball into it; he 
is a gone goose if he hits at a ball twice 

in an attempt to clear it from his wick- 
et, or touches it with his hands, or is 
ruled in any way to have obstructed 
the field. 

This would seem to make the bats- 
man's life a considerable nightmare 

wicket is three sticks with "bails" on 
top. Batter is out when bails are dislodged. 

with hazards besetting him on all sides. 
However, having apparently stacked 
the cards hopelessly against him, the 
cricket rule-makers give him leave to 
hit the ball to any part of the field he 
pleases, including behind him or to the 
sides. There is no foul territory, and 
misses do not count against him if the 
wicket remains untouched. Having con- 
nected, he doesn’t have to run if he 
doesn’t consider it safe to do so; and 
if he wants to bring the bowler to an 
early senility he can stand there all 
day merely blocking the ball from the 
stumps with the end of the bat. This 
might draw some “barracking,” the 
British equivalent of the Bird, but it 
is his privilege to stay in there and 
spoil good balls and the temper of the 

In fact the batter does not need to 
hit the ball at all to make a run. If it 
glances off his pads, his shins or his 
noggin and escapes the fielders he may 
take as many as he can get. Again, he 
may run if the wicket keeper lets the 
pitch get away from him, just as our 

batter may run if the catcher drops the 
third strike. 

He may hit the ball on the fly if the 
bowler is sucker enough to give him 
one, even running up the pitch to con- 
nect with it. He may take it on the half 
volley as it comes up off the pitch, the 
aim of the bowler being to bounce the 
ball at the batter's feet. Or he may 
turn with a leg glance and let a fast ball 
glance off the meat of his flattish bat, 
which, with the initial speed of the 
throw, will often take it to the bound- 
ary for a Four. And if he really puts the 
willow to it and catches one squarely 
so that it goes over any boundary on 
the fly, he automatically chalks up six 
runs and has "knocked one for six,” a 
favorite British expression which has 
crept into the language just as home 
run has become a part of ours. It doesn’t 
happen very often. 

Outside of the fact that both games 
are played with a ball and bat and 
“runs” are scored during innings, there 
is, of course, not the faintest resem- 
blance between cricket and baseball. 
But there is an important difference 
even in the batting which in my opin- 
ion makes the hitting stars, like Brad- 
man and Hutton, easily the equivalent 
of the Babe Ruths and DiMaggios in 
eye and batting judgment. This is the 
fact that in cricket, the bowler bowls 
the ball into the turf at the feet of the 
batsman or just before him, whence it 
rises or bounces at him, frequently at 
an unpredictable angle. The ball shoots 
down from the batter’s eye-level, or 
rather he loses its interrupted line of 
flight, when it smacks into the pitch. 
He must then wholly reassess it in the 
tiny fraction of a second when it shoots 
up or bounces toward him or his wick- 
et, and in this splinter of time make up 
his mind whether he will risk a full 
stroke, let it go, sweep it, glance it off 
continued on page 51 

FEBRUARY 14. 1955 



two batsmen face each other in cricket at opposite ends for instance, can move right in between Cover-point and Square 

of 22-yard pitch. At start, fielders take basic positions shown Leg, a place of danger aptly known as Silly Mid-on. When a 

above, both in front and behind hitter. As play begins, bowler hit is made, batters may run back and forth along the Pitch 

may shift fielders according to known habits of batter. Mid-on ball is returned. Each time they exchange bases a run is scored. 

BOWLER'S objective is to hit wicket. Batsman defends 
wicket wit h bat, runs only when he feels he can score. Then he and 
partner exchange wickets, each exchange counting as one run. 

this pop fly may be caught by Silly Mid-on or howler him- 
self, though Gully ibeyond batsman) may try for it. If caught 
the batsman is out, as in baseball, and next batter comes up. 

• * 

BATSMAN'S mit goes between Gully (left) and Slip. If fielder 
can peg ball into wicket before batsman's partner reaches 
"crease" (batter's box) from other end of pitch the runner is out. 

a "strike out” is scored in cricket when the batsman 
misses ball and it sends bails on the wicket flying. Ten members 
of the team must be put out before the teams change sides. 

GALLICO continued from page 1,9 

or wait until it has whizzed past him 
and then— late— cut it through the 
slips, as those heroes are called who, 
with no protection, stand directly be- 
hind him on either side of the wicket. 

Your Briton will start his backswing 
with the drop of the howler’s arm so as 
to be in motion, but he has much less 
time to decide what to do with it and 
how and where he will place his bat. 
Those bowlers can throw a smoke ball, 
a pitch with really blinding speed, since 
they are permitted a run of anything 
from 10 to 30 yards to aid in giving it 
impetus before letting it go. But added 
to this, they put spin on the ball just 
as do American pitchers. 

The purpose of this spin, however, is 
not primarily to affect the flight of the 
ball in the air, but something much 
more deadly to the batter— namely, to 
bring it up from the pitch at an un- 
expected angle. The stuff on the ball 
can make it shoot to the right or left, 
or dart low and venomously like a 
snake for the stumps, or rise up sud- 
denly in an unnatural high bounce and 
brain the batter if he doesn’t get his 
head out of the way. 

The problem of the batter is now 
increased fourfold, for not only must 
he hit the ball within the brief space of 
its rise, but on a slanting rise that is 
sometimes impossible to prejudge. If 
you figure the ball for one plane and it 
swerves into another you’ve missed it. 
And if it swerves into your stumps, and 
knocks the bails off, you’ve had it. 

Thus the fellow who can put up a 
Century (a hundred runs or more) is 
considerable of an athlete and the ten- 
sions that mount within him must be 
terrific, with almost unbearable con- 
centration required. He cannot relax 
for a second. This, in its way, is as 
thrilling to watch as an American bat- 
ter coming up to hit in a clutch. 

Also at the end of each six balls de- 
livered, or Over, the captain changes 
the bowler, making the batters look 
at slow or spin stuff after a diet of 
fireballs, or vice versa. 

Deponent somehow escaped being 
“bowled for a duck” (put out without 
scoring) and got eight runs off fast 
bowling in sheer self-defense to keep 
from being killed. They consisted of a 
three, swept to square leg, meaning 
pulled around to my left, a two and 
three singles, all put up in a desperate 
attempt to protect my person. The ball 
hit for three, in particular, was one that 
threatened to unman me, and in blind 
terror at. this prospect I swatted it 
away to an unexpected corner of the 

field, with a stroke up to that time not 
yet encountered in British cricket. 1 re- 
fused to give it a name or explain it 
when I was so informed afterwards and 
asked how it was accomplished. 

I believe I survived two Overs 
through sheer luck and terror. They 
then brought on Mr. Ian Peebles, the 
spin bowler, a smoothie whom I knew 
personally, he having chaperoned me 
at the first cricket match I ever saw at 
Lord's when the Australians were there 
one year. A big lanky chap, he tossed 
one up to me that looked like money- 
for-jam, a softie that curved gently 
through the air and bounced apparent- 
ly harmlessly in front of me. I took a 
gorblimey swipe at it, intending to be- 
come the first American ever to knock 
brother Peebles for six. The ball of 
course was dripping with stuff and I 
tipped it straight up in the air. When 
it came down a reception committee of 
five was waiting for it and Gallico’s 
cricket career was at an end. 

My adventures in the field confirmed 
my respect for the cricketer as an ath- 
lete and a sportsman. Our side took the 
field first in the morning and the team 
captain motioned me to this position 
called Silly Mid-on, indicating I was to 
crouch about 20 feet or so from the 
batter and field anything that came 
my way. 

Goodness knows who he thought I 
was, athletically speaking, but by then 
it was too late to remind him that I was 
a creaking and aging gent whose re- 
flexes were no longer what they never 
had been, that I was wearing bifocal 
glasses and that the lack of a fielder’s 
mitt and a suit of armor was adding to 
my unhappiness. My hope was that if 
anything really fast came through there 
I would be able to duck — but not too 


When the bowling changed after each 
Over and the batter at the other end 
was up, my position shifted to Long 
On, which is well out in the field. This 
came as a blessed relief from the imme- 
diate risk of decapitation but in the 
end worked more damage, as I was 
called upon to chase hits to the bound- 
ary and get the ball back to the wick- 
et keeper. I hadn’t really run for years. 
Three chases, and I pulled a tendon. I 
had already ruptured a muscle at Silly 
Mid-on, making a quick start trying to 
reach a short pop-up. During the inter- 
val for lunch, these injuries stiffened 
up beautifully. 

Well, it was only a one-day match 
and a jolly good morning’s and after- 
noon’s sport, but when I tell you that 

it was three months before I was again 
able to walk normally, it will give you 
an idea. Don’t sell cricket short as a 
game for will-o’-the-wisps. If you’ve 
never played the game, be tolerant of 
those who do. When it was all over, I 
counted one pulled tendon, one rup- 
tured muscle, three assorted bruises in 
various tender parts of the anatomy— 
and I had a firm resolution never to go 
near the game again. 

Most Americans find cricket a crash- 
ing yawn and it will probably surprise 
them and hurt their feelings to learn 
that cricketers reciprocate and feel the 
same way about baseball. 

Here, for instance, is a lovely para- 
graph I came across in a book on crick- 
et by Major John Board, a chap who 
has devoted most of his life to the game 
and who says, in writing of the neces- 
sity for constant throwing and fielding 
practice on the part of would-be crick- 
eters: "Baseball players in America are 
constantly practising their throwing 
until they have made it a real art in 
direction, distance and speed. Indeed, 
that is the only part of that singularly 
dull and dreary pastime that has ever 
aroused my enthusiasm.” 

And so we note that chauvinism in 
sports is not exclusively an American 
trait, for, how any man who has ever 
played or became proficient at a ball- 
and-stick game could fail to be aware 
of the exquisite balance between speed 
of men and speed of thrown and batted 
ball and the mounting tensions and ex- 
citement of baseball, is beyond me. 

As for cricket’s interval for tea, I am 
afraid the American influence is about 
to take the joke out of that. Our Brit- 
ish cousin, retiring beneath the grand- 
stand, is as likely now to ask for a 
sausage roll and a Coke as he is to de- 
mand his Oolong. And brother, that 
AIN’T cricket! CJwg) 

BEERY MID-ON at village pub i.s happy 
final position for most cricket matches. 

FEBRUARY 14. 1955 



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Greater love hath no man than Si’s Sunday pilot for his Ercoupe. 

And, it would seem, with reason: like his old plow mare, it thinks 


"/ had 200 fret of nlliliiilr at the aid of the runway, and all of a 
nuddrn the cockpit was fall of xmokc It had to hi- the drink." 

A while back in these pages I wrote 
glowingly of my new Ercoupe. I 
extolled it in print as being an extraor- 
dinarily safe airplane for amateurs to 
fly. Actually, I didn’t know the half of 
it. That little job has qualities of cau- 
tious dependability which set it apart 
not only from ordinary aircraft, but 
probably even from other Ercoupes. In 
short, my plane has a brain. 

As a kid I used to ride bareback on 
an old plow mare named Duchess. I 
didn’t even put. a bridle on her. You 
steered her by leaning, just as the Er- 
coupe flies without rudder controls. 
Duchess would take me anywhere — if 
she was satisfied that conditions were 
right. She wouldn’t enter gullies when 
cloudbursts threatened; she could de- 
tect rotten planks in bridges; when 
dark began to descend upon the New 
Mexico mountains while I had her out 
on expeditions, the ancient mare head- 
ed for home whether I liked it or not. 

Like Duchess, my Ercoupe is a faith- 
ful old danker as far as motive power 
is concerned. It never fails to run, but 
it can do the most terrifying things— 
and always with a purpose. Of course, 
I didn’t believe it the first time. 

Shortly after buying the ship, I of- 
fered to fly a neighbor to Cape Cod, 
Mass., where he wanted to join his 

vacationing wife. The day was bright 
and warm and we flew with the canopy 
open, sport-car style, the engine bang- 
ing and grinding in perfect rhythm 
all the way. I dropped my passenger, 
called the weather bureau, gassed up, 
checked the oil — and half way home 
the engine suddenly changed its tune. 
It didn’t falter, exactly, but it got 
alarmingly rough, and when that en- 
gine is rough, it means your sunglasses 
bounce on your nose. It wasn’t carbu- 
retor ice, it wasn’t the fuel mixture and 
it ran as badly on one magneto as the 
other. I landed at Newport, R.I. 


A couple of obliging mechanics 
dropped everything to help a transient 
who was obviously in a hurry, but 
could find nothing the matter. After 
about an hour of concentrated labor, 
the Ercoupe ran fine, and I actually 
got into the cockpit and started to taxi 
out for a take-off before I noticed that 
you could no longer see the end of the 
runway. A great, billowing fog had 
rolled quietly in from Long Island 
Sound, defying the forecasters, and 
had blanketed the entire route home. 

I took a bus to Providence, thence 
home by slow train, arriving in the 
small hours. 



I spent the next day catching up on 
my work and reflecting bitterly on the 
air age which had saved my friend 
eight hours and cost me 18, and then, 
as I began figuring ways and means of 
getting back to Rhode Island to pick 
up my ship, Hurricane Hazel struck. 
She blew the tail right off the plane 
tied down next to the vacant spot on 
my home field where the Ercoupe usu- 
ally sits. Newport wasn’t touched by 
this particular storm. 

The little Ercoupe clattered along 
fine for a week or so, and then I had a 
high-frequency radio installed — an ex- 
travagance I’d planned when I bought, 
the plane. Finding that this new equip- 
ment drove the magnetic compass cra- 
zy, I flew to Bridgeport, Conn., where 
they have a thing called a “compass 
rose,” with a turntable designed for 
shifting planes in all directions while 
the deviation is corrected. Departing 
from Bridgeport after a couple of hours, 
I had 200 feet of altitude at the end of 
the runway and all of a sudden the 
cockpit was full of smoke. 

Fire in the air is almost unheard of 
in light planes these days, but just the 
same I suspect that most pilots have as 
deep a subconscious horror of it as I do. 
Wishing I had three hands, I grabbed 
for ignition, gas valve and master 
switch. There’s nothing beyond the 
end of that runway but deep, cold, gray 
salt water, and I was seized with a 
panicky urge to tip around and head 
back for the field. This has sometimes 
been tried with a dead engine from 200 
feet, but it’s never been tried twice by 
the same guy, according to the statis- 
tics. I read lots of statistics. It had to 
be the drink. 

All this mental struggling went on 
in a remarkably short time— I hadn’t 
even cut any switches yet — and even 
as I began turning the gas valve the 
smoke stopped as quickly as it had 
started. Gee, I thought, maybe it’s 
only smoldering now; I’ll keep power 
on long enough for a 180° turn. I hadn’t 
turned off the master switch, either, 
and was still tuned to the tower, so I 
quavered into the mike: 

“Thizziztha Ercoupe that just left 
gotta smoking engine can I come back 
please gulp.” 

“Cleared to land, any runway,” the 
man in the tower barked right back. 
“I’ll call out the equipment,” he add- 
ed enthusiastically. 

One fire truck did come out and run 
along abreast of me during the end of 
the landing roll. When I switched 
everything off, dove out of the plane 
and yanked open the cowl, a bevy of 
firemen stood ready to squirt and foam. 

Nothing. Not a wisp of smoke, nothing 
unduly hot, not even a smell. 

I called the home field and an Old 
Pilot flew up to get me. He couldn’t 
find anything wrong with the Ercoupe 
either, but agreed it would be wise to 
leave it, pending a further look-see. 

( In this case, it turned out that a big 
blob of solder had been spilled on the 
exhaust manifold during some ignition 
work and had heated to the smoking 
point during my take-off. But that's 
not the point I’m getting at.) 

“Shame to put you out like this,” I 
said as we flew back in the Old Pilot’s 
plane, “but at least I picked a nice day 
for it. Beautiful flying weather.” 

"You kiddin’?” he said. “Wait'll we 
get near home. Wind shifted all of 
a sudden and there’s the damndest 
greasy black smog you ever saw coming 
in from Jersey and laying over the 
field.” When I saw the smog I knew / 
sure wouldn’t have made it back, and 
finally I realized the truth about my 
airplane. If it hadn't been the solder 
it would’ve been something else. That 
intelligent, conservative, weather-wise 
old Ercoupe, when seeking a safe night’s 
berth, will always pick a comfortable 
spot like Newport or Bridgeport and 
squat there, and the devil with the 
pilot, who’d most likely end up set- 
tling for a lumpy pasture in a moment 
of stress. 

I’d been thinking of naming the ma- 
chine “Bottlefly" or some such frivo- 
lous thing. I guess it’ll have to be 
“Duchess.” CUDD 


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is 6 foot 1 and has adopted the dis- 
tinctive style which made his father fa- 
mous, even before he became Tarzan. 

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FEBRUARY 14. 1955 




Life is a problem when .you’re as tall as Wade Halbrook 


for a high one. Despite his s'ze, 
he is quick and limber on court. 

S OMEWHERE in his relatively short life 
22-year-old Wade Halbrook of Oregon 
State College picked up the nickname 
"Swede.” The sobriquet befits him ill— his 
ancestry is German and Dutch— but still 
it figures that Wade would be tagged with 
a misnomer. For Halbrook, a resident of 
Portland, is an individual doomed always 
to stick out of the crowd like a Douglas fir 
in a forest of lesser evergreens. 

Part of Swede’s trouble is that he is 7 feet 
3 inches tall. Naturally he tends to protrude 
among people. Outside of placing electric 
light bulbs in ceiling fixtures without bene- 
fit of a ladder about the only thing 7 feet 
3 inches of body is good for is playing bas- 
ketball. Dr. Naismith did not have Swede 
in mind when he invented the game, but 
basketball as much as anything has saved 
Swede from becoming a misfit. 


As a youngster, the gaunt boy, whose 
shirt sleeves ended somewhere on his fore- 
arfns and whose trousers never quite got to 
his ankles, figured to be the butt for the 
natural cruelty of children. When he en- 
tered Lincoln High School he was so un- 
comfortable that he considered transfer- 
ring to an all-boys’ school. Then he got his 
first opportunity to turn jeers into cheers. 
“He had nothing to tie him to the school 
at the time,” says Coach Jimmy Partlow of 
Lincoln. “Ultimately basketball gave him 
the tie.” 

Partlow recognized both the star materi- 
al and the behavior problem in the moody 
young giant. Besides teaching Wade how 
to play basketball he spent a good deal of 
his time trying to insulate Halbrook’s emo- 
tions from the riding he took from the wild- 
ly partisan high school crowds. Swede did 
learn to play basketball, and he was pret- 
ty good at it. He led Lincoln to the state 
championship and established a new set of 
Oregon schoolboy records. During the finals 
of the 1952 state championship tourna- 
ment the spectators, who had been riding 
Swede throughout the tournament, stood 
up when he left the game and gave him an 
ear-shattering ovation that lasted for sev- 
eral minutes. Genuinely touched. Swede re- 
marked, "It gave me a sort of feeling that 
maybe it was worth it all.” 

Halbrook had found the academic going 
at Lincoln fairly rugged. Still he became 

the most sought-after high school graduate 
in the Pacific Northwest— 75 colleges bid 
for his services. But Amory T. (Slats) Gill, 
Oregon State College basketball coach, 
generally gets his pick of athletes within 
the state, and he got Swede, although some 
of the more vigorous basketball factories 
made better offers to Swede than OSC. 

When Swede arrived at the large OSC 
campus he was slightly appalled at the size 
of his new venture and even made vague 
plans to decamp and enlist at another 
school. He never quite decided, however, 
and hung on at OSC. He broke in with 
the OSC varsity in 1953 playing against In- 
diana and its great center, 6-foot 10-inch 
Don Schlundt. Swede scored a highly cred- 
itable 44 points to Schlundt’s 53 in the two- 
game series, and snared 17 rebounds to his 
opponent’s 19. By the end of the season 
he had scored 614 points, breaking the old 
OSC mark by 121. Under Gill he became a 
genuine star, hooking well with both hands, 
using an effective jump shot and learning 
to pace himself. Oregon sportswriters were 
stimulated to dub Swede with dubious 
titles like the “Splendid Spire” and “Tow- 
er of Lincoln.” 

But Swede could not shake his personal 
problems. Recently a faculty member re- 
marked, “None of us could ever recall hav- 
ing seen Wade smile . . . whether it was on 
the floor, on the campus, in the coffee shop 
or downtown. Life seems to be a pretty 
grim business with him.” 

A student friend of Halbrook’s described 
walking around the campus with Swede: 
"Almost everyone he meets says hello, and 
he doesn’t know one in a hundred. This up- 
sets him and makes him feel conspicuous.” 

Halbrook make a desperate attempt to 
become just one of the boys. He tasted the 
heady wine of nighttime roistering and be- 
gan cutting classes. As a result he flunked 
a number of credits during the 1954 spring 
term and to make up for the deficiencies he 
buckled down in the fall. 


The OSC team, strong with players like 
Tony Vlastelica, Bill Toole and another 7- 
footer, Phil Shadoin, played mediocre ball 
this season. When Halbrook returned from 
his scholastic labors after the first of the 
year, the OSC squad reeled off four straight 
victories and began looking like a strong 
contender for national honors. 

Then Halbrook took to his evening wan- 
derings and classroom absences again. Slats 
Gill, who has a reputation as a sort of Fa- 
ther Flanagan when it comes to straighten- 
ing out athletic and academic risks, sat 
down for a two-and-one-half hour chat 
with Wade. The Splendid Spire offered no 
remorse, showed no sign of a desire to re- 
form. Gill suspended him from the team. 
“It’s not lair for the school and it's not 





A Greyhound bus test gives answer— and more 



fair for the fellows on the squad who 
are doing the right thinking,” he said. 
Then in an uncoachly burst of bitter- 
ness, Gill fired a few rounds at the 
ethics of college athletic programs. “It 
isn’t fair for a school to hang onto a 
boy— any boy— and give him nothing 
in return but a chance to play basket- 
ball. If he doesn’t get any more out of 
college than that, he’s going to wind 
up passing out towels in a locker room, 
and probably not doing too good a job 
of it. But Lord,” Gill ended, reverting 
to his character as coach, “could we 
use him!” 

Immediately after news of Hal- 
brook’s suspension broke, Buchan’s 
Bakers, a Seattle firm, contacted 
Swede and offered him an opportunity 
to play basketball as an employe of 
theirs. Swede was supposed to re- 
ceive about $100 a week as a truck 
driver. Buchan’s made plane reserva- 
tions to Seattle for Swede but he never 
showed up. Instead he met with Coach 
Gill, confessed he had a "big shot atti- 
tude” and was reinstated. 


Gill, however, did not allow Hal- 
brook to suit up for the next game 
against the University of Oregon. The 
following night, in a return game at 
Corvallis, Gill had Halhrook ready on 
the bench. When he rose on the side- 
lines to limber up, the largest crowd 
in the history of Gill Coliseum (11,500) 
put on a terrific demonstration. Swede 
played poorly but OSC won in over- 
time 56-54. 

Gill admirers regard his take-it-slow 
attitude with the reinstated Halbrook 
as proof that Slats intends to make 
Halbrook face his responsibilities, even 
if it hurts the team's record. Cynics 
note that Halbrook was rusty after 
his layoff and furthermore believe Gill 
never really intended to let his star go. 
Said one rival coach, "All I can say 
is, he [Halbrook] went to a helluva lot 
of classes between Friday night and 
Saturday night.” 

Currently Swede is back as the 
starting center— OSC has just about 
clinched its division title now— and is 
attending classes regularly. Whether 
he will find the job of squeezing himself 
down to “normality” too much and 
goof again is anybody’s guess and Slats 
Gill’s nightmare. But as one OSC fac- 
ulty member put it, “Halbrook’s bread 
and butter is making use of the fact 
he’s that tall. That’s his problem too. 
The question simply is whether there 
is something there in Halbrook. Ap- 
parently Slats thinks so— an# he’s a 
pretty good judge.” dwbl 

Y ou’re a very good driver, of course; 

practically every driver thinks he 
is. But— how’s your Reaction Time? 
Whether you run a family sedan as 
transportation or a sports car for fun, 
your RT is the biggest single factor 
influencing highway accident statis- 
tics. RT is the time lapse between 
your awareness of a sudden emergen- 
cy — a veering stray dog or an ex- 
uberant tot in headlong flight across 
a busy street— and your physical re- 
sponse (braking, steering) to this sit- 
uation. At 30 mph your car covers 
44 feet per second; one-tenth of a sec- 
ond variation in RT can mean the dif- 
ference between a near thing and trag- 
edy. Just one-tenth of a second! 

Statistics show that Grand Prix race 
drivers (such as Stirling Moss) have an 
RT of .39 to .40 of a second. Sports car 
drivers average half a second, trained 
Greyhound bus drivers .75 second and 
Joe Blow in his family car runs around 
1.5 seconds. Mr. Blow is thus twice as 
slow as the bus driver and three times 
slower than an experienced sports car 
driver in reacting to an emergency. 


Whether you drive a sports Jaguar 
or a De Luxe Supermatic Eight, a sci- 
entific check on your RT and general 
aptitude might give you a salutary 
jolt. It gave me one— and I have driv- 
en in 100 sports car races during the 
past eight years. I agreed to be put 
through the wringer at the Greyhound 
bus company’s training school in 
Cleveland, Ohio. Other civilian organi- 
zations (the AAA and certain insur- 
ance firms) offer such test facilities, 
but none is as thorough as Greyhound, 
which can claim much of the credit 
for buses showing the lowest fatal ac- 
cident rate of any motorized convey- 
ance in the U.S. — only .13 fatalities 
for each 100,000,000 passenger miles 
covered, compared with .16 in trains 
and 2.9 in passenger autos or cabs. 

The conditions governing the Grey- 
hound Drivers’ School Test were de- 
fined beforehand by Safety Director 
Roy Alexander and Safety Instructor 
Roy H arpster. N o fakes or favors ; noth- 

ing glossed over for the sake of a story. 

In the Greyhound schoolroom on 
Carnegie Street, 20 desk-chairs faced 
a sectioned diesel engine (959£ of Grey- 
hound buses are now powered by su- 
percharged diesels), a blackboard and 
an easel with a sheaf of technical 
charts. Around the walls were exhibits 
acquainting drivers with the mecha- 
nism of the buses: brake layout, super- 
charger, ignition unit, heat control 
system, clutch assembly, variable pitch 
cooling fan. There were also various 
bent and broken items reminding that 
neglect and abuse cost money. 

The tests began with Reaction 
Time. For this a contraption is used 
which consists of two parallel bob- 
weights suspended on strings and held 
at an angle by cotter pins. The in- 
structor’s bobweight is connected to a 
lever on which is mounted a bull’s-eye 
card. You watch the card — not the in- 
structor. When he releases the cotter 
pin by pushing on a key, the card 
moves as the bobweight swings free. 
The instant the card moves, you re- 
lease your own cotter pin. The time 
taken for the two bobweights to swing 
in unison is the factor used in calcu- 
lating your RT. You get seven tries 
and nine swings of your bobweight 
will pass you. My average score was 
four swings. That was reassuring. 

Next comes the peripheral vision 
machine, to determine the efficiency of 
your side vision. This is a semicircular 
box with a nose pad at eye level. Two 
levers at the sides are swung horizon- 
tally toward the center by the in- 
structor. The moment you see him 
moving either, or both, you holler, giv- 
ing details. Result of two tries: left 
eye, 108 and 107°; right eye, 105 and 
103°. Total score, 423. Passing figure, 
390. That made me feel fine. 

Now for the depth perception ma- 
chine— a lighted box with an oblong 
front opening through which you can 
see two vertical pegs, free to slide in 
parallel grooves scaled in millimeters 
and controlled by strings. You sit 20 
feet away with a string in each hand. 
Then the instructor moves the pegs 
continued on next page 

FEBRUARY 14. 1955 


MOTOR SPORTS continued from page 55 


tD)c Hartford (lourant 

Columnist Bill Lee pays sincere tribute to I)inny 
McMahon of Connecticut, an honest boxing man 

back and forth a few times to confuse 
you. It’s your job to bring the two pegs 
in line. This is a tough one, with decep- 
tive lights and shadows. It flunks 27% 
of applicants. Four tries are permitted 
and an average error of 20 millimeters 
is the passing mark. My best effort was 
a five-millimeter error and my average 
19— which was okay. 

Finally, I was put through the de- 
finitive RT test in a real Greyhound 
bus, 35 feet long, eight feet wide, weigh- 
ing 14 tons and powered by a 180 hp, 
rear-mounted, six-cylinder diesel. I had 
never before driven any bus, let alone 
such a mammoth. After a few miles on 
Route 42, Instructor Harpster handed 
over the wheel to me. “It’s all yours. If 
you make out, you can take the de- 
fensive driving brake test, but we 
don’t usually let drivers do this until 
they’ve had a month to get used to 
handling the bus.” 


After 10 miles of dodging road re- 
pair squeezes and other traffic hazards, 
Harpster nodded: “Okay. You’ll do. 
Stop while I fix the brake detonator.” 
He clamped a box containing two car- 
tridges to the front of the bus. A long 
string that came in through the driv- 
er’s window was fixed to the firing pin 
of one. “Now,” said the instructor, 
“I’ll sit behind you and hold the string. 
When I pull it you’ll hear a bang. That 
bang will drop a blob of yellow paint 
on the road. The instant you hear it, 
tromp hard on the brake. You’ll hear 
another bang as the second cartridge 
goes off and drops another blob of 
paint. The distance between the two 
blobs converted into seconds at any 
given speed will be your RT. I won’t 
tell you when I’m going to yank the 
string— so watch out!” 

On my first try the two blobs were 
45 feet 5 inches apart, traveling at 35 
mph. The second time, at the same 
speed, the gap was 43 feet, 2 inches, 
giving an RT of .84 second. “We’ll hire 
you,” grinned Harpster. “I could get 
your RT down to between half and 
three-quarters of a second and make a 
bus driver out of you in four days.” 

A sports car racer ought to be at 
least that good— maybe better. On the 
other hand, qualifying at Greyhound 
is no small compliment. Achieving the 
driving finesse of a Greyhound bus 
operator may not be one of your ambi- 
tions, but polishing up your RT is more 
important than doing the chrome- 
work. Why not try it some day soon? 
It can save your life. (end) 

D inny McMahon, the one boxing 
commissioner in the U.S.A. for 
whom two governors went to bat with- 
in a period of two months, is now in 
an almost impregnable position from 
which he can be hurt only by friends. 

A month or so before leaving office, 
Governor Lodge called McMahon into 
his office to keep a promise he had 
made two years before to allow Dinny 
to remain as chief inspector of the 
State Athletic Commission for an addi- 
tional two years beyond retirement 

This week Governor Ribicoff desig- 
nated McMahon to be State Athletic 
Commissioner for the next four years. 

McMahon’s nomination pleased the 
boxing people of Connecticut, the pro- 
moters, matchmakers, boxers, man- 
agers and handlers. No state in the 
country has a more experienced or 
better-informed commissioner. Dinny 
has a deep understanding of the devi- 
ous methods of the fight mob. 

The first time I ever saw Dinny Mc- 
Mahon was in the summer of 1921 at 
a little outdoor boxing arena in Bridge- 
port. He was working in the corner of 
a chunky Jewish fighter named Kid 
Kaplan of Meriden against a tough 
body belter introduced as Lieutenant 
Earl Baird of the Army. My seat in the 
press row was close to Kaplan’s corner 
and I heard everything McMahon, the 
Irish trainer, said to Kaplan, the Jew- 
ish fighter. I remember how I had been 
struck by the obvious fondness of the 
older man for the fighter he was han- 
dling. It was almost as though Louie 
Kaplan were Dinny McMahon’s son. 

It’s been that way between Kaplan 
and McMahon ever since. They won a 
world championship together and the 
relationship never wavered. They had 
to cut in a New York manager in order 
to make progress and they had to fight 
underworld mobs before they won, 
but they got there, won the champion- 
ship and parted with it without doing 
anything that reflected the slightest 
discredit on either man or the business 
they were in. 

Everyone by this time has heard the 
story of how Kaplan, after a brief ten- 

ure, no longer could make 126 pounds. 
McMahon was propositioned to “sell” 
the title to a certain featherweight. 
There would be $50,000 in it for Louie 
and Dinny, and remember that 50 
grand at that time of a far lesser tax 
bite must have been something like 
$100,000 would be today. McMahon 
and Kaplan turned the bribe down, 
marched to the New York Boxing 
Commission and laid the featherweight 
championship of the world on the table. 

“You made it possible for us to win 
this title and now we can’t make the 
weight any more, so we’re turning it 
back to you,” McMahon told the com- 

The payoff has been a long time 
coming but it’s so fine and clean and 
wonderful that McMahon’s picture 
should be hung in every boxing office in 
the country. Dinny hasn’t minded 
waiting. Ce~n p? 



There’s news from New Orleans 


New Orleans 

T he old Fair Grounds here, which 
has survived carpetbaggers, four 
wars, reformers and several changes in 
ownership since its start in 1872, is 
having a bang-up season. One of the 
three oldest tracks in the country, it 
was, at the turn of the century, the 
very heart of winter racing. And it 
still is for thousands of people in the 
South and Middle West. 

Of course, compared to Santa Anita 
and Hialeah everything is in minia- 
ture. Everything, that is, except the 
track itself. Purses are smaller. There 
is only one $50,000 stake race, the 
New Orleans Cap. Attendance is smal- 
ler, too— six to eight thousand is the 
daily average. And the handle is far be- 
low the other winter tracks. Neverthe- 





In the Davis Cup aftermath, they did fine 


less, for a huge segment of the public, 
winter racing still means New Orleans, 
just as it has since 1837 when the old 
Eclipse Course opened right above 
the city with the world’s first scien- 
tifically blended dirt track. 

The biggest attraction at the Fair 
Grounds this season is 18-year-old Ray 
Broussard, the apprentice, who is the 
leading rider in the country thus far in 
1955. Broussard comes from Louisiana 
Cajun country where he started riding 
quarter horses at the small age of 11. 
He’s tall for a jockey, with enormous 
hands and feet, and keeping his weight 
down is already a major problem. The 
Cajun kid rides in a manner reminis- 
cent of Conn McCreary, guaranteed 
to give you heart failure if you’ve bet 
on him, for he moves slowly and comes 
from far back off the pace to end in a 
powerful stretch rush. He’s had 51 win- 
ners since the first of the year, but was 
set down for 10 days for rough riding 
last week, which may hurt his chances. 

The best three-year-old on the 
grounds— and one which is pointed for 
the Louisiana Derby— is Roman Pa- 
trol, Pin Oaks Farm’s very fast colt 
which won four out of five starts last 
year, including the Remsen at Jamaica. 
The bay colt has filled out, grown taller 
and looks good to me. Trainer “Slim” 
Pierce, foreman for Jim Fitzsimmons 
for 18 years, told me he is moving 
slowly with him, but he is about ready 
now. Also on the grounds is Simmy, 
which ran second to Summer Tan in 
the Garden State. He got nothing the 
day I saw him run there and looked as 
if he were at the end of a hard cam- 
paign rather than making his first start 
of the winter season. 


But by far the most interesting horse 
around is the Calumet-bred Spur On, 
the seven -year-old son of Whirlaway 
from Still Blue, a daughter of Blue 
Larkspur. Owned by Marvin E. Af- 
feld, the oil man, and trained by Mitch- 
ell Silagy, Spur On is as goofy as his 
papa, mighty Whirlaway, which was as 
erratic an animal as you’d find working 
for a living. Spur On won’t even breeze 
while other horses are on the track. 
This means they have to wake him up 
and get him out by 5:30 a.m. or even 
before. He’s so finicky that he’s been 
known to go on a two-day hunger 
strike if even his groom watches him 
while he eats. But last year he won the 
Michigan Mile, beating Social Outcast 
and, barring some unexpected Brook- 
meade or Hasty House Farm’s tourist 
from Florida, he’s my pick for the 
New Orleans Cap. (end) 

T he first of the year’s major tennis 
championships, the Australian na- 
tional, has gone into the books and 
Americans can find both concern and 
comfort in the results. 

The concern stems from the failure 
of Vic Seixas and Tony Trabert to reas- 
sert the mastery over the Australians 
which they exhibited in the Davis Cup 
Challenge Round a month before. The 
comfort comes from the splendid show- 
ing of our two teen-agers, Jerry Moss 
and Mike Green, who showed up Aus- 
tralia’s highly touted juniors in their 
own backyard. 

After we had won back the Davis 
Cup from the Australians at Sydney in 
December, the general reaction was: 
“Okay, so you’ve won the cup. Now 
what are you going to do to keep it?” 

Moss and Green provided the answer 
to this one when they battled their 
way to an all-American final in the 
junior singles championship at Ade- 
laide, Moss finally winning in a hard 
match, and then teamed to take the 
doubles for a clean sweep. 

Thus we have begun to reap swift 
dividends from the Jack Kramer jun- 
ior development program. Moss and 
Green are both “Kramer Kids,” 18 and 
17 years old, respectively. They both 

played well throughout their three 
months’ stay in Australia, showed re- 
markable improvement and then came 
through in the final big test. 

Obviously they aren’t going to step 
in this year, or even next year, to 
help defend the cup, but they have 
shown their mettle and should be on 
their way. 

Young Green beat Australia’s No. 2 
junior, Roy Emerson, at Melbourne 
and again at Adelaide. He also whipped 
England’s highly rated John Barrett 
and took the measure of Australian 
Davis Cupper Rex Hartwig in an ex- 
hibition at Perth. Moss had a decision 
over Emerson too, but his advance to 
the Australian junior singles final was 
helped by a forfeit from Ashley Cooper, 
the Aussies’ top junior, who sprained a 
ligament in his leg. In the junior finals, 
however, Moss beat Green 10-8, 6-2, 
to help balance the hooks. Green had 
taken him twice previously to win the 
No. 4 spot on the U.S. Davis Cup team. 

Both boys have promise. Green has 
sound strokes and plenty of power for 
his age, but he must learn to move 
around faster. Moss, not much big- 
ger than the handle of a man’s rac- 
quet, must put on weight and must 
continued on next paye 

FEBRUARY 14. 1955 



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TENNIS continued from page 57 

strengthen his service before he can be 
a strong international factor. He has 
a weak service but he should be able to 
learn from Australia’s little Ken Rose- 
wall, who makes up for his lack of an 
explosive service with depth and smart 

Rosewall, incidentally, established 
himself as the player to be reckoned 
with for the year’s individual honors 
on the strength of his masterful sweep 
to the Australian men’s championship. 
Can he win at Wimbledon and Forest 
Hills? That remains to be seen. But on 
his most recent showing — his straight- 
set victories over Trabert and Lewis 
Hoad in the Australian semifinals and 
finals— he looks like the "strong man” 
bet of the year. 


If there was one way I could describe 
the 1954 season it would he that its 
only consistency was in inconsistency. 
There was no one dominant figure, no 
player able to win more than one single 
major championship. The year 1955 
may be the same. Rosewall, Hoad, 
Seixas and Trabert might well spend it 
playing a tennis version of musical 
chairs or “Who's got the button?” 
This could go down as the era of ten- 
nis mediocrity. 

N ow t he Aust ralian campaign is over. 
Before closing the chapters on it I 
would like to put in a few words about 
my erstwhile opponent, Harry Hop- 
man, the Australian captain. 

As soon as we had won the Davis 
Cup, the so-called "Hopman Hunt” 
began. There were many after the 
sandy-haired captain’s scalp. I think 
he was pilloried undeservedly for Aus- 
tralia’s Davis Cup defeat. Personally, 
I think he should be returned as cap- 
tain, if he wants the job. 

Hopman hung up a very fine record. 
He helped win back the trophy from 
the United States in 1939 and 1950 and 
he helped defend it successfully three 
years before finally suffering a defeat. 
He is ideally suited for the job. Tennis 
is his life and, as a writer, he is in a 
position to act as captain and team 
manager without interference with his 
work. Besides, Australia has not de- 
veloped anybody else with Hopman’s 
background and availability to fill 
the vacancy. 

When Australia challenges for the 
cup this year I think we can expect to 
see “The Fox” — as they call him — on 
the sidelines again, and whoever is cap- 
tain of our side will find it won’t be 
easy to “outfox the fox.” GOOD 






• Gunnar Nielsen. long-striding Danish pressman, unleashed 
terrific last lap kick, swept past Wes Santee and Fred Dwyer, 
cracked Santee’s week-old world indoor mile record by 2 10 
seconds with 4:03.6 clocking in Millrose Games’ Wanamaker 
Mile in New York. • Santee was timed in 3:48.3 for 1.500 
meters in same race, snapped Glenn Cunningham’s 1 7-year- 
old world mark of 3:48.4. • Don McDermott of Englewood 
Cliffs, N.J. flashed 500 meters in 0:42.8: Chuck Burke, Chi- 
cago steamfitter, sped 10,000 meters in 18:41.3 for new U.S. 

records, won places on U.S. Olympic speed skating team in 
trials at St. Paul, Minn. # Dick Fadgen of North Carolina 
State covered distance in 2:26.5, established new U.S. mark 
for 200-yard breaststroke, joined State’s 400-vard medley 
relay team in 3:56.3 record-hreaking race at Raleigh, N.C. 
• Iowa State’s Jim Ballcau, Pete Janss, Sandy Stewart, Jim 
McKevilt swam 400-vard freestyle relay in 3:24.7, set new 
U.S. and national collegiate standards for 20-yard course 
at Ames, Iowa. Old records: 3:26.4 (U.S. ; 3:26.9 (college). 


Georgia Tech pulled another major upset, 
beat Kentucky 65 59 for second time in 
month, dropped losers to No. 2 in AP poll. 
Tech’s iron men outfought bigger Wildcats 
off boards, led all way. Little Joe Helms 
(24 points' and Bobby Kimmel starred 
for Engineers, whose Coach John (Whack) 
Hyder exulted: “It’s the greatest thing 
since Jan. 8." Kentucky bounced back to 
blast Florida 87 63, Mississippi 84 66; tired 
Tech bowed to Alabama 76 72. 

San Francisco applied second-half pres- 
sure, whipped Loyola of Los Angeles 65 55, 
used reserves freely to trounce St. Mary's 
69 48, jumped to No. 1 in nation. 

Utah posted three easy wins, trimmed 
Los Angeles State 77 38, 81 49, Montana 
State 87 60, reiainiui No. 5 ranking. 

Oregon Stale maintained unbeaten rec- 
ord in Northern Division of Pacific Coast 
Conference, edged Idaho 59 52, 69 63. 

UCLA rolled over California 83 64, 
84-63, set stage for important Southern 
Division series with Stanford this weekend. 

La Salle took pair from Georgetown 
85 58, 74 46. Tom Gola scored 34 points 
(12 for 17 from field) in first game: Frank 
Blalcher tallied 20 in second. 

Duquesne. on move again, turned back 
Niagara 65-48, Westminster 70 56, Bowl- 
ing Green 64 54. Si Green got 58 points in 
three games, had help from Dick Ricketts. 

North Carolina State came from behind 
in last six minutes, edged Virginia 98-91, 
then thrashed Clemson 119 85. 

George Washington polished off Duke 
92-73, overcame high-scoring Furman 
76-71. Corky Devlin and Joe Petcavich 
were Colonial stars. 

Marquette rallied in second half, won 
over Drake 64 60, stretched winning streak 
to 16, longest in country. 

Iowa defeated Purdue 76 67, moved into 
tie with idle Minnesota for Big Ten lead. 

TCU battered Texas A&M 92-62, set 
four foul-shooting records, beat Baylor 
77 75 on Dick Neal’s basket, strengthened 
hold on first place in Southwest Conference. 

Syracuse Nationals beat N.Y. Knicker- 
bockers 77 75 after three straight losses, 
grabbed full game lead over Boston Celtics, 
who bowed to last-place Philadelphia War- 
riors 113 109 in Eastern Division of NBA. 

Ft. Wayne Pistons lost to Knicks, Roch- 
ester Royals, roared back to take three in 
row from Syracuse, Philadelphia, Roches- 
ter, remained five games in front of Min- 
neapolis Lakers in Western Division. 


Gunnar Nielsen’s record-smashing 4:03.6 
victory in Wanamaker Mile highlighted 
Millrose Games in New York, set pace for 

other outstanding performances. Norway’s 
front-running Audun Boysen ran away 
from Villanova’s Ron Pelan.v in half-mile, 
set meet record of 1:51: Mai Whitfield 
held off Lou Jones, won by inches in 600- 
yard run in 1:10.8; Rod Richard upset Art 
Bragg in 60-yard sprint in 0:06.2; veteran 
Harrison Dillard won 60-yard high hurdles, 
equaled own meet record of 0:07.2; Horace 
Ashenfelter outran rivals in 9:04 two-mile; 
the Rev. Boh Richards maintained superi- 
ority in pole vault with 15-foot, 2-inch leap; 
Parry O'Brien put shot 56 feet, 7 inches; 
Herman Wyatt. John Hall, Charles Hold- 
ing. Laverne Smith of Armed Forces, Phil 
Reavis of Villanova finished in five-way 
high jump tie at 6 feet, 7 1 ■. inches. 

Marjorie Larney of New York hurled dis- 
cus 122 feet, 2 inches; Amelia Wershoven of 
New York tossed javelin 138 feet, 10 inches, 
established indoor records, loci qualifiers for 
U.S. women’s team in Pan-American games 
in National AAU senior meet at Chicago. 


Kid Gavilan, mambo-dancing ex-welter- 
weight king, made little use of right hand, 
relied upon left hooks and jabs, showed 
brief flashes of former skill, won 10-round 
split decision over hard-hitting but slow- 
thinking Ernie Durando in New York. 

Seraphin Ferrer, unbeaten young French 
lightweight champion, shot right to chin, 
floored former world titleholder Paddy De- 
Marco, who got up from canvas at five, was 
counted out while clutching ropes in fifth 
round at Paris. 

Keeny Teran. scrappy Los Angeles bat- 
tler who overcame addiction to dope, 
hurled assortment of punches at top speed, 
stopped Johnny Ortega in 10th round of 
12-rounder billed for “American flyweight 
championship” at Hollywood, Calif. 

Bobo Olson, scheduled to defend middle- 
weight title against tough-guy Joey Giar- 


(Verdiel of the A**oriate<l {‘rent writer*' poll ) 
Tram stunditiKRthis »wk with points fij.' 
s-nlrs in parentheses i : ~ . 

1— San Francisco (68) 1,107 

2— Kentucky (19) 867 

3— La Salle (3) 638 

4 — Duquesne 614 

5— Utah <3> 559 

6 — George Washington (9> 398 

7 — North Carolina State 389 

8— UCLA (1) 330 

9 — Marquette (6) 319 

10— Illinois 198 

Rl.-tCKIM.s-ui>: 11. Maryland 197:12. Min nesota 
( 1 1 146; 13. Alabama lllj 137: 14. Missuur i 132: 
15, Iowa 1 1 1 106. 

dello in Chicago March 23, changed mind, 
refused to meet challenger until latter is 
cleared of assault charges pending in Phila- 


Alfred Gwynne Vanderbilt’s Social Out- 
cast, 13 20 favorite to win $69,200 McLen- 
nan Handicap at Hialeah Park, Fla., got 
fierce stretch battle from long-shot Artis- 
mo, barely squeezed home in photo-finish 
in prep for $100,000 Widcncr Handicap. 

Blue Butterfly, Irish-bred mare, swept 
into lead at turn, fought off Miz Clemen- 
tine, captured $56,500 Santa Margarita 
Handicap, won filly and mare champion- 
ship of Santa Anita, Calif, meeting. 

Boston Doge. Paul Andolino's unbeaten 
colt, responded to urging of Jockey Eric 
Guerin, came from behind with brilliant 
burst of speed, charged to eighth straight 
victory in seven-furlong $20,500 Bahamas 
Stakes at Hialeah Park. 


Gene Littlcr, smooth-stroking young pro, 
broke three-way deadlock on final round, 
finished with 275, took Phoenix Open by 
stroke over Johnny Palmer and Billy Max- 
well. pocketed $2,400. 


Hoot Mon. little 39-foot yawl skippered 
by Lockwood Pirie, finished fifth but took 
second straight 184-mile Miami-to-Nassau 
race on corrected time. Valiant, 52-year- 
old yawl, started from scratch, was first to 
cross finish line. 

Carleton Mitchell's Finisterrc, second to 
Hoot Mon in big event, braved high winds, 
heavy seas, won 30-mile Nassau Cup race 
two days later in 5:23 corrected time. 


Dartmouth piled up 579.8 points, captured 
own winter carnival at Hanover, N.H. Slick 
Chiharu (Chick) Igaya led Indians with 
victories in slalom, Alpine combined. 

Rudy Maki of Ishpeming, Mich, lpaped 
270 ami 259 feet through swirling snow, 
edged Chicago’s Art Tokle by 1.3 points, 
won national jumping title at Leaven- 
worth, Wash. 


Johnny Werket. Gene Sandvig, Pat Mc- 
Namara of Minneapolis, Ken Henry of 
Chicago, Art Longsjo of Fitchburg, Mass., 
Bill C’arow of Madison, Wis. joined record- 
breakers Don McDermott and Chuck 
Burke on eight-man U.S. Olympic speed 
skating team after trials at St. Paul. Mc- 
Dermott and Henry were also named to 
represent U.S. in world championships at 
Moscow Feb. 19, 20. 

continued on next page 

FEBRUARY 14. 1955 

scoreboard continued front page 59 


Bob Voigts, sensitive to public criticism by 
Northwestern’s scalp-hunting “N” Club, 
resigned after eight years. Otto Graham, 
Cleveland Browns star quarterback and 
former Northwestern All-America who re- 
cently announced retirement from pro foot- 
ball, was rumored as possible successor, but 
promptly eliminated self. 

Gaynell (Gus) Tinsley was fired as head 
coach by LSU for “best interests of univer- 
sity athletic program"; T. P. (Red) Heard 
resigned as athletic director, confirming 
reported dissension at Baton Rouge, La. 

Sammy Baugh. longtime Washington Red- 
skins passing star from Sweetwater, Texas, 
signed five-year contract to coach Hardin- 


England accumulated 438 runs, defeated 
Australia by four runs, five wickets down, 
retained traditional Ashes in fourth test 
match at Adelaide. 


Palamonium, Jimmy Hinton's brisk bird 
dog, covered 40 miles over rough terrain, 
flushed four stylish bevies, was named Na- 
tional Field Trial Club's free-for-all cham- 
pion at Canton, Miss. 


Maurice (Rocket) Richard slammed home 
four goals, Montreal Canadiens crushed 
N.Y. Rangers 7-3, moved five points ahead 
of slipping Detroit Red Wings in National 
Hockey League. 

Boston Bruins scored over Chicago Black 
Hawks, Detroit, tied Red Wings in two 
games, gained ground on third-place To- 
ronto Maple Leafs. 


Monroe Flagg of Saranac Lake, N.Y. zipped 
down Lake Placid’s Mount Van Hoeven- 
berg run four times in 4:46.67, captured 
National AAU four-man bobsled title. 
Two-man crown went to Bud Washbond of 
Keene Valley and Pat Martin of Massena, 
who covered four heats in 5:04.06. 


HONORED- President Dwight D. Eisen- 
hower, golfer, sportsman, onetime West 
Point football and baseball player; named 
for William D. Richardson Trophy as “hav- 
ing made 1954’s outstanding contribution 
to golf," by Golf Writers’ Association. 

HONORED— Vic Seixas and Tony Trahert, 
who won Davis Cup for U.S.; voted “per- 
sons who have rendered distinguished serv- 
ice to tennis in U.S. for 1954,” by Lawn 
Tennis Writers’ Association of America. 

honored John Franklin (Home Run) 
Baker and Raymond William Schalk, ma- 
jor league stars prior to 1930; elected to 
Hall of Fame, by special committee, 

DIED— Ernest A. (Prof) Blood, 82, college 
and high school basketball coach for 54 
yean 1897 1951 1; of cerebral hemorrhage, 
at New Smyrna Beach, Fla. Blood’s Pas- 
saic H.S. “wonder” teams won 159 consec- 
utive games from 1919 to 1925. 



Cincinnati 88— Seton Hall 78 
Cincinnati 83- Siena 63 
Columbia 79- Brown 51 
Columbia 76— Harvard 71 
Dwtuesne 70— W’minster 

Duquesne 65 Niagara 48 
Fordham 70— Conn. 65 
La Salle 74— Georgetown 46 
Manhattan 88 St John's 

Mu'berg 91 Scranton 85 
Niagara 77 Holy Cross 68 
Penn 84 Cornefl 76 
Penn St. 78 Lehigh 37 
Penn St. 77 W. Virginia 68 
Seton Hall 67 J Carroll 62 
Syracuse 74 Holy Cross JO 
Temple 83 SI. Joseph's 82 
Villanova 79- Fordham 69 
W Va. Tech. 127 Salem 81 
Williams88 CoastGuard66 


Alabama 76 Ga. Tech 72 
Arkansas 85 SMU 74 
Auburn 78 Georgia 76 


Dayton 73— W. Kentucky 67 
Dayton 49-Murray St. 45 
Duke 91 N. Carolina 68 
Duke 115 — W. Virginia 75 
Florida 76 Alabama 74 
Furman 86— S. Carolina 72 
Furman 60— Virginia Tech 

Geo. Wash. 92— Duke 73 
Geo. Wash. 76— Furman 71 
Ga. Tech 65 Kentucky 59 
Kentucky 87— Florida 63 
Kentucky 84 Mississippi 

La Salle 85 Georgetown 58 
Louisville 82- Ky Wes. 67 
Maryland 67— Wm. & Mary 

Mississippi 89- LSU 69 
N. Car. St. 98— Virginia 91 
N, Car. SI. 1 19— Clemson 85 
Richmond 70— Va. Tech 65 
Richmond 106 W Va, 67 
Tennessee 102 -Florida 75 
Texas 75— Arkansas 74 
TCU 92 Texas ASM 62 
TCU 77 Baylor 75 
Tulane 69 Miss. St. 60 
Tulane 81 LSU 57 

Tulsa 72— Bradley 70 
Vanderbilt 79— Auburn 74 
VI. Forest 120— Clemson 65 
W. Forest 101 Davidson 51 
W. Forest 96— Virginia 90 


Colorado 86— Iowa St. 70 
Drake 93— Detroit 86 
Duquesne 64— Bowl. Gr. 54 
Illinois 104 N'western 89 
Indiana 87— Butler 56 
Iowa 76^ Purdue 67 
KansasSt.71 0klahoma60 
Manhattan 71— DePaul 70 
Marquette 64- Drake 60 
Michigan 92— L.A. Stale 39 
Michigan St. 79 Purdue 72 
Michigan SL 73— Neb. 62 
Missouri 84— Iowa St. 67 
Missouri 96— Oklahoma 61 
N'western 96— Michigan 81 
N. Dame 91— Loyola (Chi.) 

Ohio St. 67— St. John's 61 
Ohio St. 90— Indiana 87 
Okie. ASM 67 St Louis 54 
Okla. ASM 75— Detroit 69 


Arizona 88— Bradley 77 
Colo. ASM 55- Wyoming 49 
Montana 69— Denver 55 
Oregon 64 Washington 63 
Oregon St. 59- Idaho 52 
Oregon St. 69— Idaho 63 
St. Mary's 89- S. Ft St. 72 
San Fran. 65— Loyola 55 
San Fran. 69— St. Mary's 48 
S. Clara 57- S. Jose St 45 
S. Clara 71 — St. Mary's 51 
Seattle 102— Portland 62 
Seattle 98— Portland 83 
Stanford 92— S. Cal. 78 
Stanford 76-S. Cal. 60 
UCLA 83 — California 64 
UCLA 84— California 63 
Utah 81— L.A. State 49 
Utah 77— L.A, Slate 38 
Utah 87— Montana St. 60 
Utah St. 89 N. Mexico 63 
Utah St. 65— Denver 64 
Washington 54— Oregon 52 
Wyoming 61 -Okla. City 56 





1. FI. Woyno 

W-34 . L-18 
Pet.: .654 

New York Rochester Syracuse Phila. 
84-91 74-84 1 04-85 96-88 


Phila. Syracuse New York 

107-122 114-88 107-115 

109-113 PCI.: .» o 

FL Wayne Minneap. Boston Syracuse 3. Rochester 

91-84 81-96 115-107 75-77 W-23; 1-27 


i Boston Rochester Ft. Wayne 
122-107 109-101 88-96 

W-28; L-22 

Pet.: 460 

4. Milwaukee 

W -17. L-34 
Pet. : .333 

i polls New York Milwaukee 

90-83 99-101 

Milwau. FI. Wayne Phila. Syracuse 
80-100 84-74 101-109 94-88 

88-87 75-92 

Rochester Minneap. 

100-80 87-103 

87-88 101-99 



HERB THOMAS. Sanlord. N.C., 100-m. Grand Natl, stock 
car race, with 59,6 mph avg. speed, in 1954 Hudson, 
W. Palm Beach, Fla. 


JOHNNY ARTHUR. 3-round TK0 over Eddie (Red) Cam- 
eron. heavyweights. Edmonton. 

Y0LANDE P0MPEY, 4-round KO over Bobby Dawson, 
light heavyweights. Nottingham. England. 

GENE FULLMER, 10-rouna decision over Mercel Assire, 
middleweights, Brooklyn. N.Y. 

PIERRE LANGLOIS, 5-round K0 over Fritz Wetzel, mid- 
dleweights. Rouen, France. 

draw, lightweights. New York. 

PERCY BASSETT, 10-round split decision over Dave Gal- 
lardo. lightweights. Los Angeles. 


TZIGANE AGGRI Of NASHEND (poodle), judged Eng- 
land's top dog, Crults Show, London. 


WIFFI SMITH. Los Angeles. and J0YCEZISKE. Waterford, 
Wis.. over Vonnie Colby and Mrs. Roslyn Switt Berger, 
2 and 1. women's inti. 4-ball title, Hollywood. Fla. 

W-32 : L-13; T-8 
Pts. : 72 

2. Datroit 

W-29: L-16; T-9 
Pts.: 67 

3. Toronto 

W-21, L-17; T-16 
Pis.. 58 

4. Box Ion 

W-19: L-19; T-14 
Pts.: 52 

5. Now York 
W-13; L-27; T-13 
Pts.: 39 

6. Chicago 

W-9. L - 31 ; T-12 
Pis.: 30 




1- 1. 4-8 

2 - 2 


2- 3 


3- 2 


1- 3. 3-7 


2- 3 

New York 
3-1, 7-3 


•2. 2- 


JEAN'S JOE: $29,350 San Felipe Handicap, 1 1/16 m.. by 
a neck, in 1:43. Santa Anita. Calif. Bill 8oland up. 
PORTERHOUSE: $23,450 San Carlos Handicap. 7 t. by V, 
length, in 1:22 2/5. Santa Anita. Caiil. Eddie Arcaro 


SIGGE ERICSSON. Sweden, European speed skating 
championship, with 205.960 pis., Falun, Sweden. 

KEN BARTHOLOMEW, Minneapolis, sr. men's title, with 
190 pts.. 10.000 Lakes speed skating tournament, Min- 

PAT GIBSON, W Allis. Wis .sr. women's title, with 150 
pts., 10,000 lakes speed skating tournament, Minneap- 


RAY GASSNER, St. Petersburg. Fla., 10-m. Southland 
Sweepstakes, SL Petersburg. 


L.I. ROUGH RIDERS, over Squadron A, 9-6, New York. 


GEOFFREY ATKINS. England, over Clarence Pell. 15-1, 
15-6. 15-9, Canadian singles title, Montreal. 

J. A. WAGG. England, and ATKINS, over Fred Derham 
and Pell, 7-15, 15-6, 15-10, 15-10, Canadian doubles title, 


RAGNER ULLAND. Seattle, jr. championship, with leaps 
ol 252, 256 ft., natl. jumping tournament. Leavenworth, 

CHIHARU IGAYA, Dartmouth. Gibson Trophy giant sla- 
lom, in combined time ot 2:25 lor two runs, N. Conway, 

BRUCE A. LEAVITT. Franconia, N.H., boys' title, with 
6.36 pis.. Eastern amateur championships. Lake Placid, 

BERN BLIKSTAD, Bear Mountain, N.Y.. Telemark Tro- 

S hy, with 201.4 pts.. President's Cup, with 105.2 pts., 
ear Mountain, N.Y. 

EARL HITT. Detroit, and PAUL JACOBS. Iron Mountain. 
Mich., Class A title, with 142.3 pts.. Lower Michigan Open 
championships. Mesick. Mich. 

UNIV. OF WASHINGTON, inti, intercollegiate meet, with 
287.3 pts.. Banff. Alta. 


G. DIEHL MAT EER. Philadelphia, over Henri Salaun, 15-7, 
15-9, 15-16, 12-15, 15-7. Canadian singles title, Montreal. 


(Austin Smith Tournament, Ft. Lauderdale. Fla.) 

EDDIE M0YLAN. Trenton. N.J., over Johann Kupler- 
burger. 6-2, 6-1. 6-4, men's singles. 

CAROL FAGEROS, Coral Gables, Fla., over Marilyn Stock. 
6-2, 6-2, women's singles. 


EPIC KING. $13,757 Louisiana Handicap, 1 1. 16 m . by a 
head, in 1:45-4, Fair Grounds, New Orleans. Bobby Per- 
mane up. 


TONY SALVESEN. Norway, world men's singles cham- 
pionship, in 8:08.59 lor lour heats, Oslo. 




February 1 1 through 20 

friday.'february tt 


(Leading college games) 

Brigham Young vs. Ulah, Provo, Utah. 

Geo. Washington vs. Richmond, Washington, D.C. 
N Carolina St. vs. S. Carolina, Raleigh, N.C. 
UCLA vs. Stanford. Los Angeles. 


Rochester vs. Ft. Wayne; Philadelphia vs. Bos- 
ton. Philadelphia. 


• Harold Johnson vs. Paul Andrews, light heavy- 

• weights. Mad. Sq. Garden. N,Y. (10 rds.). 10 
p.m. (NBC). 

Jimmy Carter vs. Tony DeMarco, lightweights 
(nontitle). Boston Garden (10 rds.). 


Williams Winter Carnival. Williamstown, Mass. 
Univ. of Nevada Winter Carnival. Reno, 

Sled Dog Derby 

N. American Sled Dog Derby, W. Yellowstone, 

Squash Racquets 

Natl. Squash Racquets singles, Detroit. 


(Leading college games) 

Iowa vs. Indiana. Iowa City, la. 

La Salle vs. Richmond, Philadelphia. 

Maryland vs. N. Carolina, College Pk., Md. 

• Minnesota vs. Illinois. Minneapolis, 3 p.m. (CBS). 
UCLA vs. Stanford. Los Angeles. 


New York vs. Ft. Wayne. New York. 

Rochester vs. Minneapolis, Rochester, N.Y. 

• Syracuse vs. Milwaukee. Syracuse, N.Y., 3 p.m. 


U.S. Olympic team tryouts, Lake Placid, N.Y. 


Boston vs. New York, Boston. 

Toronto vs. Detroit, Toronto. 

Horse Racing 

San Antonio Handicap $50,000, hi m., 3-yr.olds 
up, Santa Anita Pk., Calif. 

Ice Skating 

N. American outdoor speed championships. 
Saranac Lake, N.Y. 


S. American championship regatta. Lightning 
Class, Buenos Aires. 

Biscayne Bay regatta, Miami Beach. 


Natl, cross-country championships, Willamette 
Pass. Ore. 

Winter Carnival, Steamboat Springs. Colo. 

Track & Field 

• NYAC meet, Mad. Sq. Garden, N.Y., 8:30 p.m. 

Auto Racing 

NASCAR 100-m. race. Jacksonville. Fla. 

Sports car races, Willow Springs T rack. Lancaster, 


Boston vs. New York, Boston. 

Ft, Wayne vs. Milwaukee, Ft. Wayne. Ind. 
Minneapolis vs. Philadelphia, Minneapolis. 
Syracuse vs. Rochester, Syracuse, N.Y. 


(Leading college games) 

Duquesne vs. Cincinnati. Pittsburgh. 

Indiana vs. Minnesota, Bloomington. Ind. 

Iowa vs. Ohio St., Iowa City, la. 

Kentucky vs. Xavier (O.). Lexington, Ky. 
Nebraska vs. Missouri. Lincoln. Neb. 

San Francisco vs. Santa Clara. San Jose. 

New York vs. Ft. Wayne. Miami. 

Syracuse vs. Milwaukee; Rochester vs. Phila- 
delphia, Toledo. 


• Kenny lane vs. Jackie Blair, lightweights. St. 
Nick's. N.Y. (10 rds.). 10 p.m. (Du Mont). 

• Gene Fullmer vs. Paul Pender, middleweights, 
Eastern Pkwy.. Brooklyn, N Y. (10 rds.), 10 p.m. 
(ABC-local blackout). 

• Westminster Kennel Club show. Mad Sq. Garden 
N.Y., 9:15 p.m. (Mutual). (Also Feb. 15.) 


(Leading college games) 

N. Carolina St. vs. Duke, Raleigh, N.C. 

Texas vs. TCU. Austin, Tex. 

Texas ASM vs. SMU, College Station, Tex. 

Boston vs. Milwaukee; Philadelphia vs. Roch- 
ester. Buffalo , N.Y. 


Detroit vs. Chicago, Detroit. 

Ice Skating 

World figure skating championships, Vienna. 


Rochester vs. Philadelphia. Saratoga Springs, N.Y. 


• Bobo Olson vs. Ralph (T iger) Jones, middleweights 
(nontitle). Chicago Stad. (10 rds.), 10 p.m. (CBS). 


• New York vs. Boston, New York, 9:15 p.m. 

Horse Racing 

Bougainvillea Turf Handicap, $25,000, l*i 6 m., 
3-yr.-olds up, Hialeah Pk., Fla. 


(Leading college games) 

Montana vs. Utah, Missoula, Mont. 

• NYU vs. Manhattan; St. John's vs. Niagara. Mad. 
Sq. Garden, N.Y., 9:15 p.m. (Mutual). 


Ft. Wayne vs. New York, Miami. 

Rochester vs. Philadelphia, New Haven, Conn. 
Syracuse vs. Boston, Syracuse, N.Y. 


Cisco Andrade vs. Lauro Salas, lightweights, 
Olympic Audit. (10 rds.), Los Angeles. 

Tommy (Hurricane) Jackson vs. Leo Johnson, 
heavyweights, Sunnyside Gardens, N.Y, (10 rds.), 


Texas Open, San Antonio, Tex. 

Serbin Women’s Open, Miami Beach. 


Chicago vs. Boston. Chicago. 

Montreal vs. Detroit, Montreal. 


(Leading college games) 

California vs. UCLA. Berkeley, Calif. 

Fotdham vs. Holy Cross, New York. 

San Francisco vs. St. Mary's. San Francisco. 
S. California vs. Stanford, Los Angeles. 

Wash. St. vs. Oregon St., Pullman. Wash, 

Philadelphia vs. Syracuse, Philadelphia. 


• Ezzard Charles vs. Charley Norkus, heavyweights, 

• Mad. Sq. Garden, N.Y. (10 rds.), 10 p.m. (NBC). 

USLTA men's indoor championships begin, New 

Water Polo 

Pan American Games tryouts, Lynwood, Calif. 


(Leading college games) 

California vs. UCLA. Berkeley. Calit. 

Duke vs. Wake Forest. Durham. N.C. 

Indiana vs. Northwestern, Bloomington. Ind. 
Kentucky vs. DePaul. Chicago. 

• Michigan vs. Minnesota. Ann Arbor, Mich.. 3 
p.m. (CBS), 

Muhlenberg vs. La Salle, Allentown, Pa. 

N. Carolina St. vs. Maryland. Raleigh, N.C. 

S. California vs. Stanford. Los Angeles. 

Temple vs. Holy Cross. Philadelphia. 

TCU vs. Rice, Ft. Worth, Tex. 

Villanova vs. Duquesne, Philadelphia. 

Wash. St. vs. Oregon St., Pullman, Wash. 

W. Virginia vs. Geo. Washington, Morgantown. W. 

Wisconsin vs. Illinois. Madison, Wis. 

• Minneapolis vs. Ft. Wayne, Minneapolis, 3 p m. 

New York vs. Syracuse. New York. 

Rochester vs. Milwaukee. Rochester, N.Y. 


U.S. Olympic team tryouts, Lake Placid, N.Y. 


Montreal vs. New York, Montreal. 

Toronto vs. Boston, Toronto. 

Horse Racing 

Santa Anita Derby, $100,000, l‘/» m.. 3-yr.-olds, 
Santa Anita Pk.. Calif. 

• Widener Handicap. $100,000, l'/« m., 3 yr. olds, 
Hialeah Pk.. Fla., 4-30 p.m. (CBS) 

LeCompte Handicap, $10,000 IV, m.. 3-yr.olds 
up, Fair Grounds, New Orleans. 

Ice Skating 

World speed skating championships. Moscow. 

Track & Field 

• Natl. AAU championships. Mad. Sq. Garden, 
N.Y., 8:30 p.m. (Mutual). 


NASCAR Speed Week begins, Daytona Beach, Fla. 


Boston vs. Philadelphia. Boston. 

Milwaukee vs. Ft. Wayne, Milwaukee. 
Minneapolis vs. Rochester, Minneapolis. 
Syracuse vs. New York, Syracuse, N.Y. 


Chicago vs. Toronto, Chicago. 

New York vs. Detroit. New York. 


USEASA women’s giant slalom, Rutland. Vt. 

Sled Dog Derby 

New England Sled Dog championships, Littleton, 

FEBRUARY 14. 1955 


If you’re selli 
that’s fun . . . 

why change the 


There's no better time to sell 

a thing to a man than when 
it's uppermost in his mind already. 

When your advertising appears 
selling battle is won at the start. 

SI readers are enjoying themselves 
to the hilt. (And they tell us 
so in a flood of mail every week.) 

Isn’t that the time to talk to them 
about any of the wonderfully varied 
things which might add to the 
enjoyment of their leisure? 

About places to go. cars and planes 
and ships to get there in. about 
comfortable, smart sports clothes 
to wear, about equipment to use? 

You’ll be talking to 575,000 families 
every week. Most of them are 
young and successful. 

They're lively, successful 
people who set the pace in 
America’s new sports-minded market. 
magazine published just 
for them— and they love it! 

SPORTS ILLUSTRATED — magazine of successful young families 



if you are taking up figure skating 


New popularity 

T T ISTORICALLY, the idea of making meaningful markings on ice originated on 
-Li. the canals of 15th century Holland. Americans took little interest in figure 
skating until the turn of the present century but today, with the help of arti- 
ficial ice, the sport is enjoying a phenomenal growth, and with climate no 
longer a limitation, there are prospects of its becoming truly national in scope. 
Home-grown North American skaters are beginning to challenge the tradi- 
tional superiority of Europeans and several have won world titles. 

Buying boots . . . 

Boots and blades are listed separately because that is the way they should 
be bought. When buying boots, remember a good fit is vital. Don't worry 
about weak ankles, because a well-fitted boot is so tight around the heel that 
your ankles can’t waver. Get your boot a half to a full size smaller than your 
ordinary walking shoes. Have it fitted over a lightweight sock. Leave plenty 
of room to wiggle your toes, but stress tightness around the heel and ankle. 
Ready-made boots range from $15 to $30 a pair in price, custom-made ones 
$50 to $85. Custom boots are worth it if you’re serious about figure skating. 
They’ll fit much better and will last the weekend skater five to 15 years. 
In fitting children, have special inner soles made by your shoemaker if you 
get a big boot with the idea the child will grow into it. The inner sole will 
give proper support in an oversize boot. 

• • • 

. . . and blades 

A pair of blades will cost $10 to $40 and you’ll do well to get the best as 
they will hold a good edge and last almost indefinitely. If the boots wear out, 
you can transfer the blades to a new pair. Make sure you get a figure blade, 
one with teeth and rounded in front. Blades should be set on with screws 
(not rivets) slightly inside the center line of the boot for easier balance. Keep 
the blades sharp, leaving two raised edges on each, with a hollow-ground 
groove between. Wipe them after each use to prevent rusting and protect 
them with rubber or wood guards when you’re not using them. 


Figure skating cannot be self-taught. Lessons are admittedly expensive, 
but they are necessary. Private lessons range from $3 for ordinary teachers 
to $6 for experts per half hour. But beginners can learn satisfactorily through 
group instruction at $1 or $1.50 a lesson. Information on accredited instruc- 
tors is available from the Professional Skaters Guild of America, 1617 East 
Boulder St., Colorado Springs, Colo. 

A tew hints 

Basically, remember that skating posture is like walking posture with the 
addition of a pronounced forward bend of the knees and ankles and a slight 
sidewise lean to the whole body. In plain forward and backward stroking on 
ice, push from the inside edge of the blade (the edge nearer the inside of your 
foot) but sfcate on the outside edge. When shifting your weight from one foot 
to another, keep your feet as close together as possible. Keep your full body 
weight over the leg you are skating on by pressing the hip on that side well 
under you. Learn to do long strokes forward and backward, pushing cleanly 
from one foot to the other. 

Other aids 

You can learn a lot from what has been written about figure skating and 
from intelligent observation of good skaters, but this is only supplementary 
to the personal instruction that is necessary. The U.S. Figure Skating Associ- 
ation, 30 Huntington Ave., Boston, Mass, publishes a monthly magazine and 
several useful technical manuals. 

Recommended books are: Figure Skating by Willy Boeckl, $4.95; Figure 
and Dance Skating by Paul von Gassner, $7.50, and Skating Jor Beginners 
by Barbara Ann Scott and Michael Kirby, $3.75. 

by The Know-it-all 

FEBRUARY 14. 1955 





At 16, Kathleen Walsh already has a fistful of medals 
for marksmanship — after only two years of competition. 
Today she looks like the coming pistol-shooting queen 

EXPERT KATHY was trained by 
her famous father, Lieut. Colonel 
Walsh, champion shot of the Marines. 

Arlington, Va. 

T he last time Kathleen Walsh 
checked up on the medals she has 
won in pistol tournaments here and 
there in just two years of competition, 
they totaled 33. She keeps most of 
them on a hanging wall bracket in her 
bedroom and sticks the overflow inside 
a box in the closet. 

At 16 this pistol-packing prom girl 
from Marymount High in Arlington, 
Va. has only 10 tournaments behind 
her. So it looks as though after a few 
more years of this sort of thing she’ll 
have to move her bed right out into 
the hall to make room for the cham- 
pionship silverware. 

At any rate, for somebody who nev- 
er even held a pistol in her hand until 
she was 14, she has moved up pretty 
fast. She did start fooling around with 
the .22 rifle when she was 12, piercing 
paper targets in local contests. And she 
still has nothing against the rifle as a 
real sporting weapon— still uses it, as 
a matter of fact. But once she got her 
hands on a pistol, the old thrill was 
gone and the new one began. 

“At first,” she says, “you feel all 
sort of wobbly with a pistol because 
you haven’t any support to sight in 
the way you do with a rifle. On ac- 
count of that you have to develop a 
lot of mental self-control. A good part 
of what it takes to shoot a pistol is 
right up in your head.” 

Apparently what’s up in Kathleen’s 
head is just right for pistol shooting. 
In 1953 she journeyed out to Camp 
Perry, Ohio, with her father and en- 

tered the National Pistol Champion- 
ships. She had a little local tournament 
experience behind her, but not much. 
It was like a Three-Eye league ball 
player trying to jump to the majors. 
All Kathleen did was finish third in 
the big shoot for the Women’s Nation- 
al Championship. 

To make Kathleen’s slightly incredi- 
ble career in the world of the pistol 
shooters a little more credible, it ought 
to be pointed out that her father — Lt. 
Col. Walter R. Walsh, USMC— is not 
only one of the top rifle and pistol shots 
in the Marine Corps but in 1952 he 
w r on the National Service Rifle Cham- 

pionship at Fort Benning, Ga. He has 
collected enough medals and trophies 
to fill an attic. 

A funny thing about Kathleen, as 
well as her father, is that they are both 
left-handed pistol shooters. This is fair- 
ly rare — in a tournament you’re not 
apt to find more than two or three 
lefties out of 50 on the line. Nor is 
Kathleen left-handed all the way— she 
plays softball summers in a recreation- 
al playground league (shortstop or first 
base! and she both bats and fields 
right-handed. On the other hand, she 
writes and drinks malted milks with 
her left hand. 

“/ guess I'm just lucky.” 



Of course, Kathleen didn’t get to be 
this good just because her father hap- 
pens to be one of the nation’s top-rank- 
ing shots. Like every other sport, pistol 
shooting demands a lot of practice. 

Kathleen gets hers three ways. First 
of all, she’s a member of the Fairling- 
ton Junior Rifle Club, which meets 
every Saturday. (She’s the oldest in the 
group of 50.) Then, she competes in the 
Tuesday Night League with the Wash- 
ington D.C. Pistol Club. And finally, 
the Walshes have set up a very neat 
target range in the basement of their 
home where they can go down any old 
time for a fast workout. 


Kathleen went back out to Camp 
Perry in 1954 and though she was dis- 
appointed because she came in 4th this 
time, her father wasn’t. The weather 
conditions were bad, and Gertrude 
Backstrom, one of the nation’s best 
women pistol shots, was in the tourna- 
ment— she hadn’t been in ’53. And. de- 
spite her impatience with herself, Kath- 
leen found herself listed in the bulletin 
published by the Dept, of the Army’s 
Division of Civilian Marksmanship as 
40th out of 90 pistol shots all over 
the country who achieved the rank of 

As far as she can remember, Kath- 
leen’s biggest thrill came when she en- 
tered the tryouts for the U.S. repre- 
sentatives to compete for the Inter- 
national Rapid Fire Championship at 
Caracas, Venezuela. The tryouts took 
place at Camp Perry in 1954. 

In order to get in the Perry Compe- 
titions, you had to beat out your re- 
gional rivals and get a score of at least 
520. All around the country there were 
about 1,000 pistol shooters aiming for 
this goal. 

Kathleen wound up at Perry, along 
with 250 to 300 regional survivors. 
Shooting it out on the line, the number 
was cut down to 50 by as nerve-racking 
a system of elimination as you could 

The shooter aimed at a paper target 
with five scoring rings, two top and two 
bottom and one in the middle. You 
had exactly eight seconds to plunk 
them all on the first round, six sec- 
onds on the second round and four sec- 
onds on the third round. 

Kathleen made 60 hits out of 60 
shots, set a new woman’s record with 
a score of 560 out of a possible 600. 
“But,” she says, “I only wound up 

Twenty-second out of a starting field 
of 1,000! As they used to put it, things 
are tough all over— Duane Decker. 

When Acid Indigestion Strikes, a handy 
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Turns require no water, no mixing — 
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So economical — only 10^ o roll 







Digital computers similar to the successful 
Hughes airborne Jire control computers 
are being applied by the Ground Systems 
Department to the information processing 
and computing functions of large 
ground radar weapons control systems. 







Scientific and Engineering Staff 


Research and Development Laboratories 
Culver City, Los Angeles County, Calif. 

Relocation of applicant mutt not causa 

If it weren’t for brand names you’d have to be a 
petroleum engineer to buy the best oil for your car 

Your car is one of your most expensive 
possessions. Rad oil could ruin it. 

Yet you don’t worry a bit about asking 
a strange tilling station man to “add a 
quart of oil” to the motor. 

How can you be so sure his oil is good 
for your car? In fact, how can you feel 
sure about anything you buy? 

Isn’t it because you've learned the first 
rule of safe and sound buying: 

A good brand is your best guarantee 
No matter what you’re buying, you 

know you can always trust a good brand. 
You know the company stands behind 
it. And so, you know you are right. 

The more good brands you know, the 
surer you are. Get to know them in this 
magazine. They’ll help you cut buying 
mistakes, get more for your money. 



A Non-Profit Educational Foundation 
37 West 57th Street, New York 19, N. Y. 


FEBRUARY 14. 1955 







I should like to join the thousands of 
readers of SI who have lauded your mag- 
azine for its courageous crusade FOR the 
game of boxing. 

Only by exposing the nefarious charac- 
ters behind the scenes can the stench and 
sordidness of pugilism’s pollution be elimi- 
nated. The fight-faithful today are happy 
to see SI roll up its sleeves and publish the 
“slug lines” which will lead the way toward 
clearing up boxing’s bad name. 

Continue to carry the torch and bring 
back to professional boxing the cleanli- 
ness, the wholesomeness and fairness that 
it should have. 

Your magazine is great. 

John T. Campbell 

Montana Boxing Commission 
Butte, Mont. 



You were criticized for trying to destroy 
sports on the air today. The sports an- 
nouncer said: “A certain magazine is trying 
to destroy sports,” while he was discuss- 
ing boxing. He also criticized bringing up 
tanked fights that happened years ago. He 
forgets the man connected with this fix is 
now running boxing in this country. 

Keep up the good work in exposing 
corruption in boxing and/or any other 

Richard Fitzpatrick 




Congratulations to SI for taking the ini- 
tiative in trying to clean up boxing's stink- 
ing mess which if left alone might someday 
kill a great sport. 

Elliott e Boswell 

Burkeville, Va. 



... I could shout for joy the way you 
are crusading for cleaning up the fight 

Each bout I watch on TV, and I LOVE 
a good clean fight, I keep hoping will be 
a little better than the one before. Three 
cheers for SI and I hope it will mean bet- 
ter boxing for everyone to enjoy. I have 
a special interest in boxing because for 
many years I acted as secretary to a man 
who I think is the greatest boxing historian 
living today. He is Johnny Houck of Lan- 
caster, brother of the late great Leo Houck, 
boxing coach at Penn State for many years. 
Johnny has been crusading for his entire 
life for the U.S.A. to have one boxing com- 
missioner to do the job and do it right, in- 
stead of each state having its own, with 
every fight being judged differently and I 
must say, very confusing to everyone. So I 
know he too is very much behind you in 
your great undertaking. 

Mrs. Anthony L. Steckel Jr. 
Lancaster, Pa. 



Please continue your efforts to clean up 
boxing we all love so well. There is more 
than just a story here — there's principle, 
obligation You have the reports the me- 
dium, the honesty, decency and even obli- 
gation to help correct the future of boxing 
for future Americans. 

R. Torer 

Newark, O. 



Are we, the public, to infer that when we 
take over on the 19 th hole the No. 1 
gripe is Robert Hall's opinion on an NCAA 
ruling? A more important issue at stake is 
the country's questionable racket— boxing. 
This deserves immediate relentless and con- 
tinuous exposd of those parasitic foes of a 
good sport. More in-fighting is necessary by 
SI. Keep up body punching and wear ’em 
down. Blows to the cranium, which is cal- 
cified, won’t hurt them. Fight for right and 
your efforts will not be in vain. TV should 
not glorify the big men in IBC before the 
eyes of the younger generation, when even 
an iota of suspicion prevails. You have 
been challenged by those who brazenly mo- 
nopolize a racket of controlling a fighter’s 

Where is the press other than SI that 
will support you in this fight? 

Frank J. Kracha 

Los Altos, Calif. . 

• Right in there, judging by the many 
editorials and columns our readers clip 
and send us.— ED. 



Last month I sent you a letter in which 
I complained (perhaps too bitterly) that 
your magazine was rather top-heavy in 
your leanings toward the outdoor sports of 
the “well-heeled” set. . . . My main idea in 
this letter was to try to open the eyes of 
the editor, in which I may have failed. At 
least I know that it was read. 

But I certainly must admit that I sure 
was raked over the coals by the two letters 
that you published a few weeks later. Mr. 
John J. Tonnsen Jr. is right, I did find 
the subscription blank somewhere. I found 
it in the inside pages of Life magazine 
which 1 have subscribed to since before 
World War II. And would you mind tel- 
ling Mr. D. M. Burgess Jr. that there 
are not enough outdoor magazines to 
sink a small rowboat. There are but three, 
Sports Afield, Field & Stream and Out- 
door Life. 

To both of these gentlemen might I ad- 
dress this question??? Since when is it a 
naughty word to be called an average man 
or part of the “beagle or cane-pole crowd.” 
Shades of Dan’l Boone!! Not too long ago, 
I have been told, it was the beagle and 
cane-pole crowd and/or its counterpart that 
made this country great. It was the back- 
woodsman and the average man that made 

this country free and all through history 
fought and won all of the wars. Thus, if 
you wish to classify me with the beagle 
and cane-pole crowd I’ll tell you I’m 
DAMN proud of it. . . . 

Mr. Average Man 
Grand Rapids, Mich. 

• Mr. Average Mari’s last anonymous 
letter was signed Average Reader and 
postmarked Kalamazoo, but his tone 
of voice is the same and he should not 
give up hope. He has opened the edi- 
tors' eyes, as well, apparently, as the 
eyes of numerous other "average read- 
ers” who have taken up pen to indulge 
in self-analysis, which is a fascinating 
sport in itself. Indeed it all makes our 
eyes open wider and wider and we, too, 
are looking inward. Thanks for the 
prod. — ED. 



A short time ago I wrote you a letter 
canceling my son’s subscription to SI. At 
that time I gave my reasons as, and I 
quote: “SI does not cater to the masses 
but to a few select few that can afford ex- 
pensive cars and go boar hunting, etc., etc.” 

I have had a guilty conscience ever 
since. My son received another subscrip- 
tion as a Christmas gift and after reading 
the last five issues, I realize I was wrong. 

After considerable thought, I arrived at 
the conclusion that a magazine to be truly 
great must cater to everyone, not just to a 
few that like baseball, football, etc. Your 
fight expose, although a little ambiguous, 
at times is a step in the right direction. . . . 

There are many other items in your fine 
magazine that I will never participate in 
but I find now that I enjoy reading about 
them and who knows, maybe someday I 
can afford some of the more expensive lux- 
ury sports. 

So accept my apologies for my first let- 
ter and my thanks to you for a fine job. 
My son has also become an avid reader. 

Leonard J. Kahn 


• Accepted; welcome back. —ED. 



“Average Reader” (SI, Jan. 17) should 
give SI pause for reflection. I concur with 
this gentleman. 

You are doing a fine job in many re- 
spects, t.c., the boxing scandal, but you are 
neglecting the rank and file of American 
sportsmen who take their sport in their 
own backyard. Not shooting game re- 
leased before the gun or skiing at Sun Val- 
ley. Is your publication intended to be ex- 
clusively for the wealthy? 

J. B. Fossett 

Havelock, N.C. 

• A game-preserve shoot is often the 
only gunning available to the city 



dwelled. SI has reported on skiing, 
now the winter sport of 20 million peo- 
ple in virtually every section of the 
country. They can’t all be rich.— ED. 



1 am a charter subscriber to SI and my 
answer to Mr. Average Reader’s ques- 
tion, ‘‘Where is the Average Reader?”, is 
he is sitting home reading your wonderful 
magazine and enjoying every page of it. 

I have always been under the impression 
that most Americans have always prided 
themselves on the idea that there are al- 
ways new fields to conquer. If you used your 
pages for hunting and fishing you would be 
defeating .vour purpose of a really different 
sports magazine and would become just an- 
other run-of-the-mill, dime-a-dozen sports 

Also thank you very much for your ex- 
cellent article on the Fort Wayne Pistons 
and the National Basketball Association. 

Stanley H. Jones 

Fort Wayne, Ind. 



“Average Reader” must be a man of lit- 
tle patience as, after all, SI is a brand-new 
magazine and I am sure in time will cover 
some of the sports you mentioned. As I un- 
derstand it, I assume SI more or less fol- 
lows the seasons, especially in major sports. 
This spring there will probably be wonder- 
ful art icles and pictures on fishing and, like- 
wise, hunting in the fall. 

Now you might say, “Oh, but here in 
Michigan we fish and hunt now!” Yes, here 
in South Dakota we do, too in fact our 
trout season was extended. But on the a r- 
eruye, one thinks of fishing in the spring 
and summer, hunting during the fall and 
skiing during the winter season. 

If you are such an average sportsman, 
why don't you take heed and try out a ski 
area in Michigan. I'll bet you’d love it! 
I don’t know what age you are, but out 
here at Terry Peak we have young and old 
who enjoy the sport. 

My husband and 1 think SI is a great 
magazine and we are looking forward to 
an article on water skiing this summer. 
We have a little more patience than you 

Another thing if you are really a true 
sportsman, you surely should be interested 
in every type of sport. There are many 
little-known facts about some sports that 
in sport articles make for good reading. 

SI just didn't deserve to get a letter such 
as you wrote! 

Sonya J. Luther 

Rapid City, S.D. 



I’ll have you know this is my first fan 
letter and I'm proud to say SI is rapidly 
growing to be my favorite magazine. 

I’m the mother of three small children 
and don’t have much time for anything 
else. But at night, when my brood is set- 
tled in bed, I pick up my knitting nee- 
dles and start clicking away wee garments. 
(My husband wears size 13 socks, i He picks 
up the latest issue of SI and starts read- 
ing to me. We really enjoy it from cover 
to cover. 

Your latest articles on the boxing mo- 

nopoly are dam good and I, for one, am 
proud to know we at last have a champion 
in the form of a wonderful magazine. Ex- 
posing crooks in the fight game is the most 
wonderful thing to happen in a long time. 
It’s good to know that there are some peo- 
ple left that can't be bought off by big 
money or scared off by threats of big law- 
suits. . . . 

In your Jan. 17th issue you had an arti- 
cle entitled Exercise to Keep Fit by Wil- 
liam H. White (no relation, I’m sure'. I 
tried them all, including the walk-one-mile- 
each-day. I had to confine my walking to 
around the block, but after the 10th time 
around, people were beginning to give me 
funny looks, so l gave up and decided I 
wouldn’t look too good with the figure of 
an athlete anyway. How about some exer- 
cises for women whose ambitions run along 
the lines of just keeping a trim figure? I’m 
sure you can find quite a lot of women read- 
ers who are interested. Besides, you can 
imagine the looks I’d get the second month 
when 1 would have to walk-jog-walk-run- 
walk around the block 20 times. By the 
third month they would have me hauled 

Thanks for giving people like me a shot 
in the arm by stirring up my interest in all 
sports. By the time we are ready to renew 
our subscription, I’ll be so well informed 
I’ll be sending you articles to print under 
my byline. See what happens when you’ve 
got a good thing- everybody wants into 
the act. 

For my first I sure got carried away. 

.lAcyuE H. White 

Temple, Tex. 

• We happily welcome Mrs. White in- 
to our act while our Mr. White is think- 
ing hard for ways to produce that trim 
figure. — ED. 



In reply to my letter in which I stated 
that Joselito was not killed when he went 
in for the kill, SI said that he was killed 
"at the moment of truth a moment that 
begins when the matador fixes the bull.” 

There have been several versions of Jose- 
lito’s last corrida but no one, except SI, 
has maintained that Joselito was killed at 
the moment of truth or anywhere near it. 
Here’s the story of how the greatest torero 
of all time died: 

On May 16, 1920 Joselito, aged 25, was 
fighting a minor fight in Talavera de la 
Reina to help out a friend. The fifth bull, 
Bailador, came into the ring and the mo- 
ment he saw it Joselito warned his bande- 
rillero brother Fernando: “Don’t go out 
with this one he’s dangerous.” The bull 
was small 259 kilos dressed - but its horns 
were perfect for killing. “Don’t get on 
them” he warned his cuadrilla "you'll 
never get off." 

With the cape Joselito quickly found out 
that the bull was disastrously defective of 
vision, seeing well at a distance but almost 
blind up close. It also kept returning to its 
querencia along the fence where it elected 
to fight in a defensive, impossible manner. 
After only five passes with the muleta, the 
bull retreated to the spot it felt most secure 
in, its^McrcHcra, and Joselito withdrew a few 
steps to change his grip on the muleta. This 
brought him into the area where the bull 
saw perfectly and suddenly it lunged for- 
ward. Joselito saw the animal coming but 
he merely stood there and flared out the 
muleta. On any other bull the muleta han- 
dled like this by the master would have 
lured it off its course. But now the bull had 
entered the field of vision where it saw 
neither man nor cloth, and it crashed into 
continued on next page 

FEBRUARY 14. 1955 


.hole J continued from page 67 


Sirs : 

As one nicknamed "Dusy," let me con- 
firm your guess at the origin of “It's a 
Doozy” (SI, Jan. 31 ). 

In 1922 at Indianapolis seven of the first 
10 cars finishing were Duesenbergs, and the 
expression was born. Alas, “Doozy” went 
the way of "‘colonel” and wound up with 
the alternate meaning of "stinker.” 


How I would love to see some more pic- 
tures of those beautiful cars which I re- 
member so well. 

George Dusenbury 

Saluda, N.C. 


Joselito, actually by accident. The horn 
ripped open the man’s lower stomach and, 
though it wasn’t necessarily a fatal wound, 
when Joselito saw his exposed viscera he 
died of the shock, gasping, “Mother, I’m 
smothering, I’m smothering!” 

This account was told to me by Joselito's 
brother El Gallo and by his nephew Gallito. 
In my restaurant El Matador here in San 
Francisco we have on the wall part of the 
jacket Joselito was wearing the day of his 
death, his dress cape and his sword, given to 
me by his family. 

Barnaby Conrad 

San Francisco 

• Controversy over whether Joselito 
was killed at moment of truth has been 
raging in bull-ring circles for years, 
with some experts claiming he was, 
others saying he was preparing muleta. 
But Si’s expert in Spain sticks to his 
moment of truth.— ED. 



Congratulations to SI on its great cover- 
age of the corrida. It was the best written 
story in English that I have seen in any 
magazine yet. Mr. Stanton knows his sub- 
ject as few English-speaking people do. 

I did not write before because I wished 
to see the reader response. It was all that 
I expected, and I am very pleased by it for 
I think it will show you how much interest 
there is in this. 

As for criticism; the article, the finest; 
drawings, fine; but one needs a very special 
knowledge to take good photos of bulls 
just as of any other action. Mr. Kauffman's 
are good as photos but poor as taurine 

Mr. Barnaby Conrad’s uncalled for and 
picayune comments seem to me to be out of 
order. You describe him as an aficionado; 
I do not feel that is either descriptive or 
true. He has peddled a fair knowledge and 
some skill at writing about bulls to the pub- 
lic with some success. But his writing on the 
subject can also be “piced.” If he were the 
aficionado he claims to be, he would be liv- 
ing where he could attend exhibits of the 
subject he writes about instead of running a 
saloon in San Francisco and hacking out 
hemipygian comments on excellent work. 

Robert M. Crowell 

CardifT, Calif. 



As the last president of the Shanghai 
Bowling Congress unless the Reds have 

organized bowling since taking over that 
China city in 1949 permit me to take ex- 
ception to the line in your Memo from 
the Publisher in the Jan. 31 issuein which 
you say Victor Kalman, as a United Press 
correspondent, filed stories "from such non- 
bowling centers as Saipan, Tinian, Peleliu, 
Okinawa and China.” 

Prior to its “liberation” by Mao Tse- 
tung el «/., bowling wasa very popular sport 
in Shanghai and at the time of Pearl Har- 
bor, I think Shanghai probably had bowl- 
ing leagues, both tenpins and ducks, that 
were unique: for example, when I bowled 
tenpins for the Shanghai Race Club team 
in the 1948 league, our team consisted of 
the English manager of the National Cash 
Register Co., a Portuguese accountant, a 
White Russian gold-bar broker, a Swiss ho- 
tel manager and an American advertising 

Don King 




Oh, by Gail, Sir! Oh I say. Sir! 

We have never worn a blazer 
To play rugby in it really isn’t done! 
But from The Oval to Darjeeling 
You’ll find cricketeers revealing 
Multiplicities of colours in the sun. 

The rugger man is brutal 
He would never get his suit all 
Muddied up by playing dressed in snowy- 

So, to strike up an affinity 
With Magdalen and with Trinity 
Please publish this, and set the matter 


Victoria, B.C. 


• Indeed, Sir, we are glad, Sir, 
To be set right on the blazer. 

We’re sorry that we done, Sir, what 
we done. 

For the Test with Britain’s greatest 

See this week's piece by Gallieo. 

This may not set us right, but ain’t 
it fun?— ED. 



In your Dec. 6 edition you mentioned a 
ski area at Ligonier, Pennsylvania. Since 
this area is near enough to afford weekend 
skiing I am particularly desirous of obtain- 
ing further information relating to the fa- 
cilities available there and the possibilities 
of equipment rental. 

Karl L. Conrad 

Akron, 0. 

• Laurel Mountain’s 15 slopes and 
trails, which range from novice to ex- 
pert in difficulty, are served by five 
tows, ranging from 250 to 2,200 feet. 
A fine place to stay is the White Star 
Inn in Jennerstown. The rates are from 
$5.25 to $7 a day American Plan. Tow 
charges are $2.50 a day and a limited 
amount of equipment is available — 
$2.50 a day pays for skis and poles. 
Boots can be rented, but it’s better to 
have your own. — ED. 






>.l v. . 

T -i • 

Memo to advertisers 

Last week the members of the Advertising 
Club of Washington, D.C. staged a "Salute to 
SPORTS ILLUSTRATED" featuring fashions by 
Julius Garfinckel & Co., the city's leading 
specialty store. 

Among the more than 400 guests who 
attended were members of the U.S. Senate and 
their wives — and a member of the Washington 
Senators baseball team. Others included Skier 
Andrea Mead Lawrence, basketball star Tom 
Gola, and Davis Cup Captain Bill Talbert. 

They saw fashions set against five 
different sports themes, and the biggest 
applause, I'm told, was for a two-piece 
cocktail dress called "Out of Bounds." 

It's certainly wonderful to discover 
that the nation's most style-conscious 
retailers have already recognized SPORTS 
ILLUSTRATED ' s role as a setter of tastes. 

This matter of style seems to be 
becoming more and more important in every 
phase of selling these days. And SPORTS 
ILLUSTRATED stands for style, not just in its 
Sporting Look section, but from cover to 
cover . . . and its audience of successful 
young families are the style-setters of their 
communities . 

Advertising Director 

SPORTS ILLUSTRATED: The Wonderful World of Sport 

“There is, as every racing man knows, a peculiar joy 
in taking a car through a curve at just the right pace, 
when a shade faster would make the tyres squeal 
in the start of a skid, or a little slower would not 
quite be racing speed. There is a balanced feeling 
about the machine in those moments — a sense of 
completion, as it were, and perfection.” 

training, i< available upon requett. Send a postcard to SPORTS 
ILLUSTRATED. Dept. H. » Rockefeller Plaza. New York 20. N. Y. 

Sir Malcolm Campbell, The Romance of Motor-Racing 

Wing-tip scores with new styling 


U-Wing tip.. . with a 
hand-laced toe design. 
Popular 3-eyelet 
raglan pattern. 

Pedwin Division, 
Brown Shoe 

Company, St. Louis. 

Other styles 
$8.95 and $9.95 

Higher Denver Writ